Find Your Way Home
by Kimura Hana
Summary: The road to healing is a long one, especially when they've made so many mistakes. Deals with the fallout after Dick leaves to be Nightwing again, and how it affects both him and Damian, as well as the rest of the family.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hi! This fanfic is going to be longer than all the ones I've published previously (most of which were oneshots anyway). I can't be certain how many chapters it will end up at, but I hope to update it regularly. Reviews are always welcome, but never required. (As long as someone can enjoy this piece of writing, I'm happy!) That said, I'll be quiet and let you start reading! Please be sure to read the note below.**

**Disclaimer: Characters and events discussed or referenced in these chapters are property of DC and do not belong to me.**

**IMPORTANT NOTE: This is kind of set both pre- and post- reboot. It's the pre-New 52 timeline (because I don't have a good working knowledge of the new timeline and when/if specific things occurred yet, and the prior timeline works much better in the context of this story) but using events from the Batman and Robin v2 series as well. Most of the story will take place after the events of the new Batman and Robin. (As of when I started this fic, issues #1-11 had been released. Events in later issues may or may not be referenced or included, depending on whether it would make sense in this context. Please keep in mind this is fanfiction, and it can—and will—differ from future issues of the comic.)**

* * *

Things had changed. Bruce had returned, Dick didn't need to be Batman anymore, and so he wasn't. It was never even that much of a revelation. He just knew it was his time to leave and return to being Nightwing—going solo, living his own life. He hadn't disliked being Batman, but it was time to move on, to go back to flying across a city without a cape in the way.

At first, he hadn't even thought about how Damian wouldn't be coming with him.

He had gotten so used to his Robin's presence by then that his mind subconsciously put Damian right there beside him. But he knew all along that wasn't fair. He _knew_ that. He had always known that when Bruce came back, Damian would _want_ to work with his father, the man he had always looked up to, respected, wanted to be. As much as Dick had grown to love Damian, he wasn't what his partner needed. He could be a stand-in, but he couldn't be Bruce. He and Damian were a great team once they had gotten over the first few rough patches, but Damian needed a father, needed someone that was his own flesh and blood. That wasn't Dick.

That was probably why he tried not to think about Damian now. It hurt.

He wanted to be something to Damian, he really did, and maybe he had been, but it wasn't enough. Damian needed Bruce now. He needed to work with his father, where he belonged.

Dick could hardly stand the tension that surrounded the household in the few days before he took his leave. Damian barely spoke to him at all, Bruce and Damian were already at odds, and he felt like he was caught in the middle of a scene he didn't belong in.

Was this the right thing to do? Leave?

He couldn't fix anything by changing his mind now, but he wasn't sure whether leaving or staying would have the worst outcome.

On the last day, Damian's eyes absolutely _burned_ with hatred, and Dick realized he had destroyed the trust between the two of them. Damian probably thought he was abandoning him or giving up but _he wasn't, he just wanted him to be able to see Bruce as a father and not a stranger._ Because even though Bruce can be the worst parent in the world sometimes, he's still their father. He's been a father to all the Robins, each in a different way.

But Damian would never see it like that, if his last words to Dick were any reflection.

"You're a liar and a fool, Grayson! Why don't you just run back to your circus? I don't care. I hate you! I hope you die!"

The only thing Dick could think through the pain was _I'm so glad Bruce isn't here._

So few words and so much pain he hadn't been expecting. No, he hadn't thought Damian would see him off with a hug or anything, but he'd hoped...hoped whatever they'd had still meant something to Damian. That he hadn't completely screwed this up by leaving.

But he had. He had screwed this up so badly he couldn't even put it into words.

His little brother—_does he even have the right to think of him that way anymore?_—hates him. He…

No. Stop. Focus.

_You're Nightwing. He's Robin. Bruce is back to being Batman._

_That's all._

But he misses his feisty little Robin like crazy.

* * *

_I hate him._ Damian has never been more certain of anything. He hates Grayson for lying to him, for leaving, for not telling him directly. It had just been "I've decided to go back to being Nightwing" all of a sudden and the next thing he knew, Grayson was gone.

He had yelled. He had crossed a line and probably hurt Grayson's feelings, but he deserved it. He deserved it if he thought of Damian as nothing more than a nuisance that could be left behind whenever he saw fit, made someone else's responsibility.

_Damn it, Grayson, why couldn't you have stayed? There was no one forcing you out of the role of Batman. Father would have allowed you to stay. I would have allowed it. I would have...liked...it..._

Damian slams his fists into the training dummies harder, even though he can feel his father's eyes and the way he must be thinking him some uncontrollable child that would kill at a moment's notice. He grabs a sword and slices through another dummy with practiced ease.

In some ways, he is.

In some ways, his old habits are coming back now that Grayson has left, now that there's no happy foil to his dark past.

In some ways, his father does not understand him nearly as well as Grayson did, just keeps spitting out orders and keeping secrets and thinking that's okay because Damian is ten and more of a sidekick and a responsibility than a partner. Grayson didn't treat him like that.

Then again, Grayson will never treat him like a partner again.

Suddenly, he can't destroy his imaginary enemy fast enough.

* * *

Bruce doesn't think he'll ever truly become accustomed to being a parent. Even after Dick, Jason, and Tim, he still makes so many mistakes, _obvious_ mistakes. Everything he does with Damian feels like a mistake. It's something about Damian's eyes, and how he looks at Bruce like he's a stranger, how he won't follow orders in costume or out. It might be because his way of doing things is so different from Dick's way, which is what Damian's obviously used to, but it goes beyond that. He had seen the changes that had taken place in his absence. Damian wasn't the same child he had been when he first entered the Batcave. He was a little calmer, a little more in tune with Batman's idea of justice, a little less hostile.

Then Dick left.

He can see that it isn't regression so much as sheer _determination_ to shut himself away from his feelings because he doesn't know how to handle being so upset and angry over one person. One person he had trusted with everything he had.

It makes everything worse, because now Damian is keeping everyone away. There's bottled-up anger inside of him with nowhere to go, so it comes out as brutality, physical harm, because that's what Damian knows how to do and that's what he will always fall back on when he can't find another way to handle things.

Bruce can only watch. He can only try to protect his son, a boy who he still feels he barely knows. He can try to do things right, but he can never get it across without making it sound like orders. And Damian hates being told what to do, so in the end this can do nothing but make it worse.

* * *

The circus alone keeps Dick busy, even without the complications his Nightwing identity brings. So many things have changed.

Dick wonders what's happening in his absence. Are Bruce and Damian learning to work together? Are they safe?

Worrying about their safety seems silly, given what they do and who Bruce is, but he does worry. He hopes they're fine, that nothing big will get thrown at them until they begin to form their own partnership and bond.

But it's Gotham, and Gotham isn't that kind.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to my lovely reviewers and everyone who has shown interest in this story! I hope you enjoy this chapter! (I realize that some of this chapter relies quite a bit on knowledge of recent comics, and I apologize, but I didn't want to weigh it down with recaps. After this, it won't be doing that, but I need to set this up for the main part of the story.)**

* * *

He'll kill Grayson if he ever sees him again. He'll take a knife and shove it straight through his chest, but even then there's no way Grayson could ever understand what this betrayal feels like. He'll make it painful, though, when he does it.

_It will hurt._

Grayson had better not come back.

* * *

Bruce still can't do anything but watch. He tries to reach out, but maybe he and Damian are a little too similar and a little too stubborn to let things go.

Things get worse.

NoBody.

Hearing his son breaking, in more ways than one.

The look on Damian's face when he kills Morgan.

_Where did I go wrong?_ he wonders as he gathers Damian's body into his arms. _What did Dick do that I can't?_

He knows that Damian was Dick's Robin first, that there was a bond there—a strong bond, however quickly it snapped.

He knows he may never have that kind of bond with his son because of his own mistakes, but he'll try.

Once he's able to fix his own relationship with Damian—because he _will_, he has to—he'll have to address the other problem as well.

Damian can't work like this. Damian can't _live_ like this.

* * *

Damian can't really describe the sensation he feels as he listens to his father's recorded voice. If anything, he supposes it reminds him a little of how Grayson would make him feel, even though his father is so much more dignified and reluctant when it comes to this sort of thing. Damn it, he told himself he wouldn't think about Grayson.

He gets up and goes to find his father. He's not sure what he'll say exactly, but he'll figure that out later.

He's tired of so many expectations.

He's tired of pretending.

He's just so, _so_ tired of being alone.

* * *

Dick starts letters sometimes. He never gets very far, though, and there are plenty of things to keep him distracted and give him an excuse not to write.

The farthest he ever got in a letter was _Hi, Damian! I hope you and Bruce are doing well. I've been really busy with the job, and the circus. I miss_

And then he stopped, because what right does he have to say _I miss you_ to the one person who's absolutely furious and shattered by his decision to leave him behind?

The letter ended up in the trash can with the first six attempts.

He'll try again later.

* * *

They've reached something like an understanding, however shaky and uncertain it is, and Bruce is glad. Damian's still learning, and he's still struggling with Dick's sudden departure, but he's opened up just enough to let Bruce take a place in his life as well.

It's a start.

Their work keeps them busy though, and there isn't time for personal lives when the Court of Owls is there to threaten Gotham.

Bruce sees Dick sometimes, but never mentions Damian. There's too much else going on, and Dick has enough problems to deal with without being reminded of this one. He knows for a fact that Dick times his visits so he never has to run into Damian, but he won't mention it.

So Bruce watches Dick and Damian exist on separate planes that he's not sure will ever truly be able to merge again.

* * *

Damian doesn't let his personal thoughts invade his mind, not now, not when his father needs him to be ready for anything. He'll protect their castle with everything he has.

He knows Dick would—_is _doing that too.

But he doesn't think about Dick.

* * *

Dick tries not to think too much. He runs and flips and swings and jumps and lands and starts over again. He loves the simplicity of movement and touch, and how he doesn't have to focus on anything but his next action. He loves that he's free here, but he also knows that as soon as he touches the ground again, the real world will come rushing back at him.

He's not unhappy with his current situation, but he's not exactly _happy_ either. If anything, it seems like a transitory and fleeting stage.

It's strange, when you discover something about yourself, the person you were meant to be. It's like looking backwards and noticing that maybe your life hasn't really been your own this whole time and there's nothing you can ever do to change that. He'll keep moving forward though, because Richard Grayson is all about momentum, the constant fluidity of one movement to the next, and he won't let anyone take his flight away from him.

He lives his own life.

But he's always needed his family around him, in some way or another. He's always had _someone_—his parents, Bruce, Alfred, the Titans, Jason, Tim, Damian, so many people—however bad things were, however messed up their relationships were sometimes, they were there. He might like working solo, but he didn't like _living_ solo.

So his home in Gotham still beckons him every night. No matter where he is, he always finds himself going that direction with a smile on his face and an exhilarating rush of adrenaline until he realizes that going back isn't right and staying away isn't easy.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello! Sorry for not updating yesterday. I'm attempting to get new chapters up daily, but that won't always be possible. Anyway, I hope you enjoy today's! As always, reviews are appreciated!**

**(Dialogue at the very end of the chapter comes from Batman and Robin #10 and does not belong to me. This is one of two instances where I'll be incorporating a small piece of conversation from the comics, only because it's important to the story.)**

* * *

Bruce starts to notice small things about Damian, such as the way he likes to hang upside down from things. He's almost positive his son picked this up from Dick's own acrobatic habits, but he doesn't ask. Instead, he watches his son swing ever so slightly back and forth from his makeshift trapeze and wonders what it would take to reconcile his eldest and youngest.

His solution comes when he realizes that he's making this more complicated than it needs to be. All he has to do is get them in the same place, and the rest should _eventually_ work itself out and he won't have to deal with it.

The portrait sitting seems to be the perfect idea.

That is, it's a perfect idea until he's sitting and standing and rearranging three boys in suits who seem to be either ignoring or antagonizing one another.

It doesn't help that a portrait sitting doesn't call for much conversation.

* * *

Dick was, admittedly, both nervous and happy to get his invitation. Sure, he had been avoiding Damian, but this might be a good time to try and set things right between them. It would be nice to see Tim again too; they hadn't hung out in a while.

He got there early.

Damian had been in the process of changing into his suit, jacket halfway on, when he walked in.

Deep breath. Act normal. "Hello!"

Damian shot him the coldest, most heartfelt glare he'd ever seen.

Maybe that had been the wrong tactic. "Um, how have you been? Have things settled down after the Court—"

"I would greatly appreciate it if you would stop initiating conversation. If I wished to speak to you, I would have done so."

Dick flinched. "'Kay." He grabbed his own suit and started changing. _How am I supposed to fix things if you won't listen?_

* * *

They sit through the portrait like any other wealthy family, but Tim can feel the tension brewing under the surface. Damian continues to argue with him as usual, but he notices how the demon always keeps a certain amount of space between himself and Dick but never once glances in that direction. Dick…well, Dick's an open book. He's switching between looking worried and looking helpless and spends most of the time staring at the back of Damian's head or faking smiles. Bruce just watches all of them with a tiny crease on his brow and that look he gets when something isn't going according to plan.

It's a good thing Alfred's here, or he's not sure this "family" would survive another minute together.

* * *

The portrait sitting couldn't end soon enough for Damian. Bad enough that he had to deal with Drake's presence, but now he had to be in the same room as Grayson. That hadn't happened for, what, months now? If Grayson was so intent on pretending their time together had meant nothing, why did he even bother coming?

_How am I supposed to deal with this?_

He wants Grayson to leave _now_. He doesn't want to be sitting on the same couch, head ducked so he can pretend to be looking at his phone, and Grayson edging closer like he won't notice they're not on opposite ends of the couch anymore.

"Damian?"

_Shut up._

"Dami?"

He looks up sharply, throwing his phone with the tiniest flick of his wrist, and hitting Grayson in the forehead. "Don't call me that."

Grayson touches the spot he hit and winces, but doesn't say anything. He simply hands the phone back to Damian, who snatches it away quickly. "Damian, we need to talk."

"I have nothing to say. Get away from me."

"Damian, I'm sorry—"

"Don't you _dare_ apologize!" Damian snaps.

"Please listen—"

"I told you to get away from me!" He's on his feet now, standing over Grayson, too close to those expressive eyes he remembers so well. "I don't want your meaningless apologies!"

"What else can I do, Damian?" he asks quietly. "Please hear me out."

"No!" He won't be tricked into trusting this man again. "Leave. You're not welcome here, no matter what Father says."

Grayson smiles sadly and stands up. "Okay. I'm going." He reaches the door and glances back. "If you ever need me—"

"I have _never_ needed you, Grayson." _I decided to trust you on my own last time. It wasn't because I needed anyone; it was because I _wanted_ someone. I won't make the same mistake this time._

The next time he looks up, he's alone.

* * *

_I didn't mean for this to happen._

It's still his fault, though.

Dick can't think about much else, so when he arrives at the meeting place, it's still at the forefront of his mind. And then he realizes _Damian_ called them here, and why he did it, and…

"Day or night, when you least expect it, I'm going to defeat you at something you feel _unbeatable_ at."

"You're going to attack us?" He's not quite sure how he manages to keep his voice even, when just _saying_ that hurts.

Damian manages to look everywhere but directly at him. "Yes, then I'm going to take something personal of yours as a memento and hang it in my room."

"And this is to prove _what_ exactly?"

"That I am the best Robin, of course."

"To who?" Tim asks, surreptitiously glancing between Dick and Damian.

"To you. To him. To me."

"You've got _nothing _to prove—none of us do—" Dick begins. _I just want to talk to you, apologize, and…maybe we could start to work things out. You don't have to go this far._

But Damian is Damian, and he can tell that he still feels the need to prove himself. He just doesn't know how he can fight him when all he wants to do is hug him tightly and never let go of him again.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews and for continuing to follow this fanfic! I'm really enjoying writing this, and I hope you like reading it as well.**

* * *

For someone who claims he's going to attack him, Damian's doing a pretty good job of avoiding him.

Dick tries multiple times over the course of the next week to talk to Damian, going out of his way to "accidentally" run into him, but he's always shot down—shot down _hard_—before he can get half a dozen words out. He won't deny it hurts to hear those words—_I hate you, go away, leave me alone_—from Damian's mouth, but he doesn't want to mess this up by pushing too hard. He knows he hurt Damian, so he's trying to cut him some slack. He's trying to give Damian some space until he calms down.

That doesn't help much when Damian's being so stubborn it puts Bruce to shame. Like father, like son.

He's being outright _ignored_, and he's sick of it.

He knows he hurt Damian. He knows he was stupid to leave him like that. He knows he deserves this, to some extent.

But he's trying, and he's not even being given a chance.

* * *

Tim comes by one day and he's able to relax a little as they make small talk over microwave popcorn and an old movie.

And then Tim mentions his fight with Damian in the cave and it's _so obvious_ that he's hurting, no matter how well he hides it, that Dick throws his arms around his little brother and refuses to let go.

_Family doesn't hurt family. This has to stop._

He spends the rest of the day with Tim, and then decides to give himself a day to cool his head before he goes to talk to Damian about it. Someone has to set him straight.

But before that can happen, he hears about Jason through Bruce, who caught Damian returning home with Jason's helmet and interrogated him about what happened.

While being ignored has been maddening, it's what Damian did to Tim and Jason that finally makes him snap.

Damian's not "defeating" them, he's just _hurting_ them. Bringing up parts of their pasts they don't particularly want to be reminded of, never mind by an unsympathetic ten-year-old ex-assassin.

If bringing up Tim's painful memories and insecurities hadn't been enough, he had _put a crowbar in Jason's bed._ That was a topic no one _ever_ brought up around Jason; even if Dick wasn't on the best terms with him, he wouldn't throw that in his face. That was just _cruel._

_Enough. This is getting out of hand._

_Hurt me if you want, but don't bring them into this._

Dick is near-furious when he storms into the Batcave and shoots Bruce a look he wouldn't have _dared_ given him as a child. "Let me talk to him. Alone."

Bruce doesn't even pause before rising from his seat at the computer, closing files, and going upstairs. Something about his body language and the slight twitch of his lips tells Dick he knew this was coming.

Dick slowly counts to ten as Bruce's figure disappears, then turns to Damian, who's leaning against the wall. "Sit down."

"What, no 'good morning'?" he asks sarcastically, not bothering to move.

"_Sit down._"

Damian shoots him a strange look, not used to this tone of voice and complete lack of his usual humor. He slowly sits in Bruce's vacant chair.

"Thank you." He takes a deep breath. "Now would you mind telling me _why_ you're attacking members of the family?"

"Didn't you hear me the first time?"

"_Don't_ push me. You're going way too far with this."

"Did Drake go running to you because I hurt his feelings?"

"Leave Tim out of this! And while you're at it, leave Jason out of this too. You have a problem with me, fine. Don't take it out on them." It's taking all his effort not to start shouting.

"Oh, of course. You're okay with everything unless I bring people you actually care about into this. I'm sure Drake and Todd will appreciate the sentiment."

Dick leans down, hands on either side of the chair, his shadow looming over the smaller boy. "In case you hadn't noticed, I care about you too, Damian."

"Oh, right, I must have forgotten when you _left me here!_"

"I apologized, Damian! I apologized a dozen times, but you never let me explain!" Both their voices are rising now, despite their close proximity.

"What is there to explain? You lied!"

"I was trying to do the right thing!"

"Well, good job! That's obviously worked out so well for you!"

"Would you stop with the snarky comments for once and _listen_ to me? I'm sick of being pushed away! I'm just trying to fix things!"

"I'm not something to be fixed, Grayson!"

"That's not what I said! I want to be...I want you to trust me again!"

"That's not happening, and you're a fool for trying. Leave me alone."

"No! Stop being selfish! You think I haven't missed you? You think I don't regret the way I left? I do!"

"But you don't regret leaving."

Dick's fists clench tightly. "You're going to make this impossible, aren't you?"

Damian locks gazes with him, not wavering.

"Fine. Just leave the others out of it. That was uncalled for." He pushes himself upright and starts to leave.

"Stop trying to act like you're my father, Grayson."

His eyes harden. "I'm trying to act like your _brother_, Damian. And I'm not going to give up. See you around."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hello, and welcome to my new followers! I apologize for not getting this chapter out sooner, but it's a bit longer than the rest, which I hope makes up for the wait. (I'm not sure where my time went yesterday, and I was also a bit distracted by mens' gymnastics.) Please enjoy!**

* * *

Bruce is slightly dismayed when he realizes Dick and Damian's confrontation didn't really do anything but increase the distance between them. If anything, Damian is angrier than before and, while he hadn't seen Dick before he left, he knows his eldest is probably still frustrated with Damian's attacks on the other two. He hadn't really expected it to go well, but there had been a small chance, at least. Now the odds seem to be getting worse.

It's not a good situation to be in. He needs them to, at the very least, be able to work together if need be. While he's sure Dick can set aside their differences for something like that, he knows Damian isn't fully capable of it right now. He's ten, and he feels betrayed, and he needs to calm down before he can be relied upon to work with the others.

He just hopes Dick has some idea of how to do that.

* * *

Dick gets back to his apartment and flops face-down on the couch.

_I'm trying to act like your brother, Damian._

This is only getting worse, isn't it? Some of it is his fault, some of it is Damian's fault, and some of it is just a big gray area he doesn't know what to do with.

He groans and rolls over, kicking his shoes off.

_What am I supposed to do? I don't regret going to tell him off for what he did, but…_

_He still won't listen._

Dick flips upside down and tries to figure out a plan of action.

_Maybe someone else could talk to him first?_

Not Tim or Jason, obviously. Bruce probably wouldn't help things much either. Babs was busy with something, so he didn't want to bother her. Steph…

_Steph._

_She would probably be willing to do it. She didn't make the best first impression on Damian, but they got along well enough to work together after that, and she wasn't afraid to tease him or treat him like any other kid his age._

_Perfect._

* * *

"Grayson told you to talk to me."

Damian is sitting at a table in a crowded diner, wondering who decided that children's clothes need to be so bright and pointlessly cheery and—more to the point—why Brown constantly insists he wear the brightest and cheeriest of the lot.

"Actually," Steph says, unwrapping her utensils and spearing a large piece of waffle with her fork, "he didn't."

Damian watches her stuff her face, taking a small sip of water.

"Well, okay, he did tell me to," she admits through a mouthful of waffles and sticky syrup, "but I told him to leave me out of your stupid fight."

"Then why are we here?"

"'Cause they have the best waffles in the city. Eat up."

Damian sighs and takes a tiny, obligatory bite of waffle. "There."

"What? No! You have to get in the spirit of things!"

_The spirit of...waffles?_

"Like this!" She snatches his knife and fork away and cuts off a huge chunk of waffle, then douses it with maple syrup. "Eat," she orders, pushing the fork back into his hand.

He scowls. "What is this supposed to be, Brown?"

"Beautiful, fun, delicious waffles? Comfort food?"

"Pointless," he replies, dropping it back onto the plate.

"Would it kill you to loosen up for once?"

"Why are we here, Brown?" he asks impatiently.

She sighs and shrugs. "Look, I don't understand everything that's going on with you and Dick, but I figured getting out would be good for you." She narrows her eyes. "Don't tell him I came, though, or he might get a big head."

"Tt."

"Is that a yes or a no or a 'thank you, Steph, you're the best'?" She grins at his steadily growing scowl. "Okay, I'll stop. Seriously, do you want to talk about anything?"

"The fact that your costume isn't going to fit after the ridiculous amount of waffles you're ingesting?"

"You little—" She reaches across the table and gives him a little shove.

He smacks her hand away.

"Fine, be that way. See if I take you out again."

Damian shrugs it off and tries to slip out of the booth, but Brown moves around to his side of the table and blocks him in.

"Nice try, but you're not going anywhere. And don't even try attacking me; you'll just make a scene and our _other_ identities might be revealed."

Damian glares at her for a moment and considers dumping his glass of water over her head. That would probably be an appropriately childish response.

"Hey."

"What?" he snaps.

She smiles at him disarmingly. "If you ever need blackmail material, I've got a great video of Dick dancing around in Batman underwear."

Damian's lips twitch into something that might be a smile. "Hardly unusual."

"Hmm...I've got some embarrassing photos from his Robin days, courtesy of Tim."

He hesitates. "Let me see."

"I'm not letting them go free of charge."

"Then perhaps we could make a deal."

"Okay. If you talk to me and answer my questions honestly, the pictures are yours."

"Tt. What questions?"

"First, what exactly happened with you two? You used to be, I don't know, kind of inseparable, even though you wouldn't admit it."

"I am not here to discuss 'feelings,' Brown. Give me the pictures and consider our business here done."

"Not so fast," she sings, an evil grin on her face. "Answer the question."

"Grayson left. That's all."

"And?"

"And what?"

"That can't be the only reason you're mad at him, right?"

"I don't have to justify my actions to a useless girl who can't mind her own business."

"Ouch. How did Dick put up with you for so long, you little brat?"

Damian flinches and looks away.

"Sorry," she apologizes quickly. "I shouldn't have said that. Sore subject and all, right?" She gives him a gentle nudge with her elbow. "Hey. Dick really cares about you. You know that, right? I'm sure that whatever's going on between you is more complicated than you're telling me, but he really loves you. Whatever it is, it'll work out."

"I don't..." he began stiffly.

"Hm?"

"I don't know if it will," he finishes quickly, shoving a forkful of waffle into his mouth before he's even realized he's picked it up.

"'Course it will." She smiles. "And waffles are the perfect comfort food."

He stabs the fork into the waffle a little too hard, and there's a loud _clang_. "Is this discussion over? Have I kept my side of the deal?"

Brown laughs. "Not really, but have the pictures anyway." She pulls an envelope out of her purse. "All yours."

"Good," he replies, quickly glancing inside to make sure the pictures are there.

He won't tell her that he only wanted them because he doesn't have any pictures of Grayson.

* * *

When Damian gets back home, he goes to his room and shuts the door, spreading the five pictures he received out on the bed and stares at them for a moment. Three of them are the photo equivalent of a blooper reel, with Grayson in various predicaments. The fourth is a picture of his father and Grayson swinging across the rooftops together. He starts to think that one was put in by accident.

Until he sees the fifth picture.

"Damn you, Brown," he mutters, picking it up and flipping it over.

_The New Dynamic Duo._

He's positive it's her that wrote it; Drake's handwriting isn't nearly this messy.

He flips it back to the front.

He and Grayson are caught midair, swinging toward the camera at the perfect angle. Grayson's smiling despite the darkness of the cowl he wears, and Damian is looking over at him, expression caught somewhere between a scowl and a smile. Lights blur out of focus behind them.

How did Drake even manage to take this shot?

He remembers that night perfectly. Grayson had insisted that they make a stop for ice cream, since it was a slow night. He'd gone to the nearest fast-food place in full Batman attire and asked for two cones. Damian had tried multiple times to stop him and convince him it wasn't proper behavior, but he'd just laughed and done it anyway, dragging his Robin along as well. The customers had stared at them from the second they walked in and the cashier nearly had a heart attack, but Grayson just reveled in the attention and asked if they had sprinkles. Damian was about ready to strangle him at that point, but the rest of the customers seemed to find it hilarious. _It's okay to have fun with it, Robin. These are the people we protect._ Damian had muttered death threats and told him that if he put sprinkles on Damian's ice cream, _he'd_ be the one who needed protection. Grayson had laughed but got him a plain cone, thanking the woman who served them in a voice that was borderline _flirtatious._ Damian resolved to give him a lesson in Batman-appropriate behavior after that. They'd eaten on a rooftop nearby and the photo must have been taken just as they started patrolling again. Grayson still had a smear of ice cream near his mouth.

Damian drops the picture and watches it float back down to the sheets.

_Don't interfere, Brown._

He grabs a sketchbook from his shelf and carefully presses the photographs between two blank pages.

_Stop it. He left. I don't want to think about it._

But he opens the sketchbook again anyway and rubs a finger along the glossy sheen of the final picture like he can wipe the ice cream off Grayson's face and the memory from his mind.

_Idiot._


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: 26 people are following this story now! Thank you to everyone; I never expected this much of a positive response! I hope you'll continue to review and let me know what you think.**

**There won't be a new chapter tomorrow (I'm spending the day with a couple of friends I haven't seen lately and marathoning the latest Young Justice DVD), but I should be able to get something posted on Friday. Thank you all so much for your support! Please enjoy.**

* * *

Dick wakes up to the loud ringing of his phone and scrambles to find it so he can shut off the noise, pressing the "answer" button just before it switches to voice mail. "What?" he mumbles.

"Do you really answer the phone that way?"

"Steph?" He rubs his eyes and sits up, bed creaking slightly. "Why are you calling this early?"

"It's noon, Dick." There's a hint of amusement in her voice. "Going nocturnal, are we?"

He leans over and squints at his clock. "Oh. Oh, yeah, you're right. I just had a late night."

"I can tell. Anyway, you might like to know I had waffles with the little brat yesterday."

"You did? I thought—"

"I only did it because I'm sick of watching you two pretend that the other person doesn't exist. But you're welcome."

"You're a lifesaver, Steph. What happened?"

"_That_ is private. But I can reveal that a certain ten-year-old is now in possession of a handful of pictures of you in shortpants from Tim's secret blackmail stash."

Dick groans. "Wow, thanks, Steph. What would I do without you to humiliate me?" _I'll never hear the end of this._

She laughs. "It's payback for when you tried to dye my hair purple."

"I _did_ dye your hair purple."

"Well, whatever brand you used was no good. It looked horrible."

"Yeah, I know. I was trying for your signature eggplant look."

"You failed."

"Yeah, I got that when you came out of the shower, threw the shampoo bottle at my head, and accidentally hit Tim."

"_I_ hit Tim? _You_ were the one that ducked!"

"Details." His voice takes on a more serious tone again. "So, it went okay?"

"He didn't try to kill me. I'd say that's an improvement."

"And…?"

"I think he might give you a chance, if you take it slow, but I doubt he'll make it easy. He wasn't exactly chatty."

"Okay. Okay, I'll figure something out. Thanks for doing that."

"Don't worry about it. We're family. Probably the weirdest family in existence, but family." She hesitates. "Make sure the kid knows that too, okay? He seemed pretty down…y'know, for him, anyway."

"Yeah," he says softly. "I will."

"Well, I've got a class in a few minutes, so I have to go. Good luck."

"Thanks. See you later."

* * *

Damian can't focus. He tries to train and his timing is off. He tries to read and he finds himself flipping pages without taking anything in. He tries to meditate and he can't stop thinking. It's infuriating.

He goes back to his room and sits on the edge of his bed, wondering what he should do to get rid of this strange restlessness. His eyes constantly flicker over to the book containing the pictures from Brown, but he refuses to give in to the urge to look at them again.

_Don't be weak._

He clenches his fists tightly around the sheets, as if to anchor himself to the bed so he can't get up.

_What is wrong with me?_

He releases the sheets, stands up, paces back and forth a few times. His hand trails over the spine of the sketchbook before he snaps back to his senses and forces himself to sit down again.

It's only a few minutes later that his father appears, knocking lightly on the open door.

"May I come in?"

Damian nods, and the bed sinks down slightly as Bruce sits next to him.

"I noticed you weren't training today. Is everything alright?"

"Fine. I will make up the time later."

"No. I mean, that's not what I was concerned about."

Damian looks up at him, waiting.

"I think…perhaps you should take a night off and—"

"You're taking me off duty?" he asks sharply. He _won't_ let him do that again.

"Don't overreact. I think it would be beneficial for you right now." He places a hand on Damian's shoulder. "You haven't been yourself lately. Taking a night off might help you clear your mind."

He stiffens and nearly pulls away. "Father—"

"One night, Damian."

"Yes, Father."

Bruce opens his mouth to speak again, but stops. Instead, he nods and stands up. "I'll see you at dinner."

"Wait—" Damian blurts out before he can stop himself.

He turns back to face his son.

"I…I have been trying to follow your rules, Father, so if—" He stops, biting his lip. _If I did something wrong, just tell me, and I'll fix it._

His gaze softens. "It's not about that. You've been doing…a good job."

He nods uncertainly.

"Everyone needs a break sometimes. Even Batman and Robin." He steps closer again and lowers himself so he can look into Damian's eyes. "I know we're still not entirely on the same wavelength, but if you ever want to talk to me, I'll listen."

"I understand." _There's nothing to talk about._

"And I'm not trying to interfere, but you need to set things right with Dick. You're both my sons, and I need you to be able to work together in the field, if nothing else."

Damian feels his throat constrict at the thought of talking to his former partner again. "I don't want to work together. I'm your partner now."

"And you were _his_ partner first."

_I know. I know that means something, but he left. Why do they all expect me to forgive that?_

"Damian?"

"Yes, Father. I will attempt to form an…alliance. With Nightwing." _And only Nightwing. Grayson will not be allowed to get close to me again. I won't be fooled twice._

He can tell it's not what his father wants, but he gives a resigned sigh and nods. "Should I invite him over for dinner?"

"If you wish to do so."

"Will you keep it civil?"

"I suppose."

"Alright. I'll go call him now."

"Don't invite Drake."

"I already did, but he's working a case right now. It'll just be the three of us and Alfred."

"Good."

* * *

Dick comes in with a smile on his face and greets Bruce and Damian with his usual cheer, but they all hear the slight pause before Damian's name and the slightly nervous look flickering in his eyes.

_Last time we were together, I was yelling at him._

Dinner starts without any mishaps, however, and the three of them sit around the table, spending most of their time eating and staring at their plates. Bruce inquires into his well-being and his work, but none of the conversation lasts more than a couple minutes.

After dessert is served, Dick sees Bruce give Damian a tiny nod.

Damian lets out a small "tt" sound and locks eyes with him. "Grayson."

"Yeah?" He's not really sure what to expect.

"I formally request an alliance."

Dick nearly spits out a bite of pie. "Uh, you…what?" He's trying not to laugh; that was such a _Damian_ thing to say.

"An alliance," Damian repeats seriously.

Dick carefully sets down his fork. "What kind of alliance?"

"An alliance that allows us to work as a cohesive unit, should the need arise."

He smiles. "I would be honored."

"Then it's decided." Damian quickly turns his attention back to his plate.

"What, not even a handshake?" he asks in a light tone, almost teasing.

"No."

Bruce sends Damian another look.

"Alright, I suppose a handshake would be appropriate." Damian stands and extends his hand.

Dick rises from his chair and stretches out his hand to meet the one offered. They connect for a few brief seconds, and he can feel the warmth radiating off Damian's palm, the only sign that he might be just a little bit nervous about this whole thing.

He quickly withdraws his hand and breaks eye contact with Dick. "Done."

"Done," Dick repeats softly.

_It isn't much, but at this point, anything is an improvement._

_At least we're talking, and not yelling._

_At least he's not attacking anyone._

_It's a start._


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Twenty one reviews! You guys are so nice to me! Thank you for all your support. I'm sorry I'm posting this kind of late; other things kept getting in the way of my writing time today. Had to eat a bar of chocolate to get my energy up enough to work on the last half of this, so I hope it turned out okay. I'm still a bit tired, so please excuse any mistakes I missed when editing. Enjoy!**

* * *

In retrospect, an alliance with Grayson is a bad idea, whether his father pushed him into it or not. He'll obviously exploit this "alliance" as an excuse to hang around and try to get on good terms with him again.

It won't work, obviously.

But it will be rather annoying.

* * *

An alliance. That opens up possibilities.

Dick decides an alliance is a good enough reason to try and get Damian to talk to him again. Maybe he'll bring him some sort of peace offering. Damian likes ice cream, right? He'll grab a cup of vanilla on his way out to meet him.

* * *

Damian is going back to the cave with Batman when another figure drops down onto the rooftop beside them. _He's so predictable._

"Hi!"

"Nightwing," he replies. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd bring my newest ally a gift." He grins and waves a small container of ice cream around. "Mind if I borrow Robin for a little while, Batman?"

"I think that would be acceptable," Bruce says, already swinging to the next rooftop.

Dick smiles brightly and sits on the edge of the building, tugging on Damian's cape until he concedes and sits down next to him.

"What is this about, Nightwing?"

"I thought you'd enjoy a treat." He passes him the cup and a spoon before getting his own out.

"I thought you were still pissed about me and Drake."

"Mm, well, I can't stay mad at family for too long." He licks a glob of ice cream off his spoon and then glances over at Damian. "But I still stand by what I said."

"Tt." Damian is trying to decide whether eating the ice cream is a good idea or not. Grayson is obviously trying to win him over, and he won't have any of that nonsense, but will refusing the ice cream really accomplish anything? Probably not. He cracks it open and digs the spoon in.

"Good, right? It's one of my favorite kinds. You should branch out from vanilla one day, though. You have no idea what you're missing."

Well, at least Grayson hasn't lost his ability to prattle on about pointless topics. "_You_ chose the ice cream, Nightwing."

"I knew you wouldn't eat it if I got anything else, though."

Probably true, but he won't admit it.

"So, how were things tonight? Are you and Br—Batman getting along better now?"

"Fine."

"I'm glad."

They sit in silence for a few minutes. When Damian reaches the bottom of the container, he glances over at Grayson, who's happily consuming the last few bites of his own. There's an all-too-familiar spot of ice cream near his mouth, and Damian suddenly remembers the picture hidden in his room. There's an unsettling difference between then and now, and it's strange to look at Grayson in this new costume when he's gotten so used to seeing that picture with the familiar Batman.

The ice cream feels heavy in his stomach.

"Robin?" Grayson asks, looking concerned as Damian stares at him blankly.

He rises quickly. "I'm going back."

"Oh, um, right. You want me to go with you?"

"Unnecessary." He can't get away fast enough, can't get back to the cave fast enough, can't change out of his Robin costume fast enough, can't get back to the familiarity of his room fast enough. He grabs the picture from its hiding place, immediately switches off the lights, and gets into bed to feign sleep, since he knows his father will come in to check on him soon.

Once he hears the door open and close with only the tiniest sound, he waits ten seconds before taking a small flashlight in hand and shining it on the picture he's looked at so many times these past few days. He shouldn't be so weak. He shouldn't be reminded of how much he had enjoyed being Grayson's partner and...

_No. I'm stronger than this. I am the son of Batman and Talia Al Ghul and I will not allow someone like Grayson to make me weak._

_I can't let it happen._

He moves to rip the picture in two, but his hands refuse to complete the action. Instead, he folds it in half and holds it tightly to his chest. He stays curled up in that position, watching the flashlight flicker as the batteries begin to die. All too soon, it goes out and he's left in darkness.

He doesn't want to sleep. He's had nothing but nightmares for _so long_ and he can't stop them, no matter how hard he tries. The picture clutched in his hands is the only company he has, no matter how much he hates himself for clinging onto it. He is expected to be above these kinds of weaknesses. Still…

He'll keep it…for now…

His eyes flutter shut and he reluctantly slips away into sleep.

* * *

Dick has been caught in a mental battle over whether he should go check on Damian or give him some space. Tonight he really wants to do the former, because he's worried about the way Damian left. He had been oddly quiet about it and he swears the boy's face was unnaturally pale under his mask.

_Okay. I'll go. Just this once._

He swings by the Batcave first to say hello to Bruce and then heads upstairs, leaving his former mentor to his work. Damian's door is shut and he can't see any light coming from underneath it, so he slowly twists the knob and cracks it open to peer in.

"Damian?" he whispers.

There's no response, so he steps inside and takes slow, cautious steps until he reaches the bed. Damian's curled up under the sheets and seems to be holding something, but he can't make out what it is.

_He's fine. Stop worrying._

He's about to go when he sees the younger boy shudder and clench the object in his hands more tightly.

"Dami?" he asks worriedly. _Nightmare?_

Damian makes a small, distraught sound and moves away.

Dick reaches out and touches his forehead gently, glad to find there's no sign of a fever. He sits down on the edge of the bed and begins to stroke his hair and whisper quiet words to soothe him. "It's okay, little one. Your dreams can't hurt you. You're okay."

Damian seems to gravitate toward his touch, but Dick's still worried by the fact that he hasn't woken up yet. Usually he wakes the instant anyone gets close to touching him.

_Has he been sleeping?_ He keeps the steady motion going, hoping it's helping. "You need to take care of yourself, Dami…" he murmurs.

It's a few more minutes before the smaller boy seems to settle down and breathe evenly.

Dick slowly withdraws his hand and smiles before drawing the covers around him snugly. "Good night, Damian."

He would stay, but he knows he won't be welcome in the morning.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I think I'll be updating every other day for now. It just gives me a little extra time, since some days I don't have as much time as I'd like to work on this. On another note, Batman and Robin #12 comes out this week! It will probably totally invalidate my ideas in this fanfiction (assuming Damian will be fighting Dick this issue, since I've heard it's the last one in the War of the Robins arc), but I'm really looking forward to it! In the meantime, I hope you like this new chapter. Please review if you can; I appreciate every single one I receive and they always motivate me to continue writing!**

* * *

Damian is determined to attack Grayson soon, but he hasn't been able to decide on a plan of action. There's no shortage of ideas; working with Grayson gave him plenty of knowledge in regards to the man's weaknesses. The problem lies in the execution of these ideas. He just can't imagine himself actually doing these kinds of things to Grayson.

He tells himself he hates him, but he doesn't want to think about what Grayson's response will be.

He tells himself he doesn't care, but he just doesn't want to do it anymore.

It's a constant struggle between how he was raised and how he's changed.

The logical, assassin-trained part of his mind tells him he's weak.

_It's Grayson._

Weakness means death.

_I don't know what to do._

You do not deserve to live if you cannot control yourself.

_Why did Grayson even have to leave? Things wouldn't be like this if he'd kept his word. He would still be Batman, still be flying over Gotham every night, still be working and training, still be slinging around stupid jokes, still be here…with me._

"I can't do this," he whispers to himself.

If you can't do something as simple as this, you bring shame to your family's name.

"Shut up. I'm Robin now."

You think you can be one of them? With your skills and background? They won't trust an assassin. Isn't that obvious by now?

"Stop it. They're not..."

They're naïve. Like children. You think crime can be defeated without spilling some blood along the way? It's not possible. Their task is futile.

"But..."

You could be so much better if you left them behind. He left you anyway. They don't care.

"No!"

"Damian?"

He jerks his head up and sees his father standing in the doorway.

"Is something wrong?"

He shakes his head quickly.

"Are you sure?" He looks like he wants to move closer and touch his shoulder, but he doesn't.

Damian nods.

"Listen…" he begins. "Dick came by last night, said you weren't looking very good. Is there—"

"I'm fine! It's none of his concern!"

"I might believe you if I hadn't noticed your sleeping patterns, or lack thereof."

"I have been keeping a regular schedule, Father."

"Yes, with less than two hours of sleep every night. That's not healthy."

"You do it."

"I'm older. You're still growing, and it's not good for you. Once in a while it's okay, but you've been doing it for at least a week. You're not as focused or as strong, and that's dangerous in our line of work."

"I understand, Father." _I won't compromise our work._

"Damian." His voice is softer now. "I'm here if you need me. At any time."

"I…I know."

"I won't think less of you for needing help."

Damian nods stiffly, fighting the childish urge to tell him everything.

"Okay." He reaches out and touches his son's shoulder briefly before exiting.

_I can't. I can't tell him. I'll figure this out on my own. There has to be a way to stop these dreams from happening, and I will find it._

* * *

Damian's nights continue to be restless and Bruce knows it. He wanders the halls for an excuse to check in on his son and constantly finds him either lying awake or in a fitful sleep.

After two more nights watching this, he's had enough. Damian hasn't asked for help, but he obviously needs it, obviously _something_ is bothering him. He goes in and sits down next to Damian on the bed, rousing him from his nightmare with a gentle but firm shake.

"Wha…Father?" He pushes himself up into a sitting position.

"Come here." Bruce extends an arm, inviting him into a hug, but Damian doesn't move. "Come," he repeats.

Reluctantly, he inches closer.

Bruce sighs and drags him forward and presses him to his chest. "You're shaking," he murmurs, feeling the quiet tremors in his son's shoulders. It reminds him of the times he would take care of Dick many years ago, except with Dick there was tears and lots of voluntary cuddling. Damian's response to being comforted is decidedly different and much more argumentative.

"I am not."

"Hm." Bruce doesn't argue. "Want to tell me why this is happening?"

Damian is silent.

"Is this about Dick?"

"No!" he says sharply, and then falters. "Maybe."

"What do you need? Do you want me to call him?"

Damian shakes his head quickly.

"What can I do?" He has no idea how to comfort him when he seems so intent on _not being comforted_. Dick, Jason, and Tim had all been unique cases when it came to things like this, but Damian is a whole other story. _I'm still an amateur when it comes to parenting, aren't I?_

"Nothing, Father. I will fix this myself."

"You said that before, and it keeps happening. I'm worried about you."

"I can take care of myself."

"I have no doubt." He moves away a little and looks down into Damian's eyes. "You've been trying so hard," he murmurs, "and I'm…I'm proud of you. I hope you know that."

Damian looks away and tries to move out of his arms.

"Damian."

He stops.

"Tell me what's wrong."

"Why…?" he asks, before he relents and lets a few more words slip out in a whisper. "He should have stayed."

"I know." Bruce had seen those two working together, and they had been great. Far from perfect, but they had been learning together. Changing their dynamic so suddenly hadn't been good for anyone, and he knows that now. It hurts, knowing he wasn't really who Damian wanted or needed back then. Even now, when they've come this far, he knows Dick will always have a larger place in Damian's life. It seems odd that his sons, so different in personality, had come to mean so much to each other in what seemed such a short time. "I know."

He allows his father to hold him for a little while longer, then declares that he's fine and he'll go back to sleep.

Bruce pretends he believes him and calls Dick anyway.

This has gone on long enough.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hello! Here's a new chapter, as promised. I should be able to get one or two more chapters up by the end of the week, but I'll be taking this weekend off since I'm going to a convention! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! Thank you.**

**Important: The dialogue from the last segment comes from Nightwing #11 and I can't take credit for it. This will probably be the last time I'll pull dialogue from the comics, unless there's something in tomorrow's issue of Batman and Robin that I can work in. Otherwise, I already know where this story is going and won't try to adjust it to fit.**

* * *

Damian is almost positive his father played a role in Grayson's sudden appearance today, but there's not much evidence to back it up. Nonetheless, the smiling, dark-haired man is leaning over him while he sits at the dining room table attempting to ignore his attempts at conversation.

"Hey, Dami. Can we talk?"

He's asked about nine times now, and it's getting annoying enough to make Damian switch from saying "no" to saying, "If you stop calling me that, maybe."

"Okay, Dami_an_." He sits down next to him. "Let's talk. Can we call a truce on this thing and move on?"

"A truce? You want to solve this with a truce?" _Does he really think it's that simple?_

"Um, yeah. What other option is there?"

"I was considering stabbing you."

"I vote truce."

"I'll get my knives." _The one I was eating with isn't nearly sharp enough._

"Come on, Damian, hear me out. I don't like pretending it never happened."

Honestly, that's the only thing holding him together. Pretending it didn't happen, that they were never partners, that it doesn't hurt, that anger is all he feels. But it's kind of hard to pretend when Grayson is right in front of him and he can't stop _thinking_ about it.

"I'm really trying."

"You don't need to try. It's pointless." he says hollowly.

"Taking care of my little brother is not pointless."

"Don't. Call. Me. That." Each word is venomous.

"You are."

"I don't care what the papers say; you don't get to call me that."

"Could you stop pushing me away for a minute and think about how I feel? I'm really worried about you, and so is Bruce. You're not taking care of yourself; you're not letting anyone help you—"

"I don't need help."

"See, that's what I mean. And if you don't tell anyone what's wrong, you're only going to make it worse."

_It's not possible to make it worse._

"I just...I miss what we had before too, Damian. I know I screwed that up, and I have no idea if I can ever make it up to you, but can't we try starting over?"

He doesn't respond.

"I can't just stop being Nightwing, but...if you want, you could spend a week as my partner or...I don't know, anything. I already asked Bruce, and he doesn't have a problem with it."

"...A week?" It's so, so tempting to take that offer so he can pretend everything's okay, that it's back to normal, that he's fine and he's not alone. But he can't. He can't trust Grayson again, not like this. He can't get attached. It's still only temporary. Grayson will placate him and then move on. He'll leave again.

Grayson looks so hopeful though. "Yeah, just for a week! You can stay at my place! It's a bit messier and nowhere near as big, but you can have the bed and—"

"And then what?" he interrupts.

"Can't we just go with the flow?"

No. No, he can't, because last time that just swept his partner away from him.

"Come on, we'll have fun together, I promise. I'll let you drive my motorcycle." A pause. "Just once, though."

"Twice," Damian counters. "And I get to make adjustments."

"Once, and adjustments that I approve."

"Fine." Then he realizes he's practically accepted the offer without meaning to. It's so easy to get caught up in the familiar flow of their banter that he hadn't noticed. It's too late to back out now. "One week."

"One week," Grayson repeats with a big smile. "I'll come pick you up in a couple days, then."

_What the hell did I just agree to?_

* * *

The night before, Damian has his things packed in about ten minutes and spends the rest of his time training. Just after his father has left for patrol, Grayson comes in and sinks into the computer chair looking exhausted. Damian watches for a moment, not sure if he wants to have to talk to Grayson again or not, but he eventually decides to reveal himself.

"I pray for your sake whatever you're doing is important. I'd hate to make good on my promise to kick your ass while you're _distracted_."

Grayson doesn't even turn around. He seems to be able to tell that the vague threat isn't of any concern; if Damian wanted to attack, he would already be attacking. "Nice to see you too, Damian."

"What _are_ you doing, Grayson?" _I thought he was coming tomorrow._

"Multi-database search..." He turns and lists off tasks blankly, and Damian wonders how he didn't notice the dark circles under his eyes earlier. "I needed a change of scenery and your computer's faster than mine."

_That sounds like an excuse. _"You seem…_off_, Grayson."

"You ever had one of those weeks where it feels like everything you do only makes things _worse_?"

"No." But he has been following Grayson's cases since he left and he can't exactly say the man's had it easy. Something else must have happened since he last checked, though.

"I've got a cop, a radical group, and a bank that all associate me with _murder_. And it's not even Thursday yet."

_Like he could murder anyone. _He can tell that his former partner is looking for some kind of sympathy or reassurance, but he can't give that. "Well," he tries, "the fact that you're still here…it's not _entirely_ unimpressive. I assumed you'd be running away with your little circus after you learned what your true place in Gotham was _supposed_ to be." That didn't come out right, and he can see Grayson's expression grow strained, probably remembering what Damian had said to him when he left. _Why don't you just run back to your circus? I don't care._

"I'm _not_ running," he replies firmly.

"Good." _Not that it changed anything last time._ "As the foremost authority on disregarding ancestors' wishes for bloodthirsty killing, I think it's _important_ to make statements like that."

"Is that so?" He looks vaguely amused.

"You think I wear yellow and green for _fun_, Grayson?" What? Why are they acting so _familiar?_ Is this Grayson's plan, to wear him down until he's at his mercy again? It won't work. He—

Grayson seems to have come to a realization about something and starts rattling off his thoughts. Damian isn't fully informed, but he can follow what's being said and lets Grayson bounce ideas off him for a couple minutes. At least this is professional now, something he knows how to handle.

Anything more makes him feel like he's losing.

Grayson leaves soon after, promising he'll come pick him up tomorrow, sometime before noon.

Damian just nods and lets him go. Being angry at Grayson is harder when he's nearby.

Next week will probably end badly.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Update in the middle of the night? Why not. All the lovely reviews I've been getting made me want to update faster, so have another chapter! Thank you all so much for reading this, and especially those of you who take the time to review! You're fantastic, and I just want to gather you all into a group hug for being so supportive!**

**On another note, Batman and Robin #12 came out today (yesterday)! I loved it—lots of great moments with all four of the boys! I really wish they had done more with Dick and Damian though. I feel a bit shortchanged there, since it's very short compared to the fights with Tim and Jason. But I can't get too upset about that; this little arc has been a lot of fun, and I loved seeing all four of them together! If you haven't read it yet, I definitely recommend it for fans of any or all of the Robins! (Though, still no Steph, sadly…)**

**But, that said, it means I can't really incorporate it into this fic. Which is fine. This is fanfiction after all, and I can do it however I like. Quite a few of my reviewers have said they wish the comics were touching on these issues more, and I wholeheartedly agree. That's part of the reason why I wanted to write this! So, since the comics seem to be skimming over Dick and Damian's run as Batman and Robin (though it is canon in the New 52 from what we know) and their whole relationship beyond occasionally working together, I hope you can enjoy my version of things. It's not nearly as professional and doesn't come with art, but I still love writing it.**

* * *

Grayson comes by to get him around eleven thirty, looking like he hasn't slept at all, his shirt rumpled as if it's been lying on the floor.

"You ready?" he asks, simultaneously smiling and rubbing his eyes.

Damian nods stiffly, still wishing he'd said no to this plan, and picks up his suitcase.

"Is that enough? It's not very big."

"It's fine. I know how to pack."

"Mm." Grayson stretches and yawns. "Let's go tell Bruce goodbye then."

"No need," another voice says, and they turn to see Bruce walking in. "Go ahead and go; I have things covered here."

"Are you sure, Father?" He jumps at the chance to escape, ignoring how Grayson's face falls. "If you would like assistance with—"

"That's quite alright, Damian. I'm sure I can manage for a week."

"Yes, Father," he says reluctantly.

"And Dick?"

"Yeah?" Grayson answers.

They exchange a look over Damian's head, and Grayson nods slightly. Then Bruce turns back to Damian. "Look out for each other. I don't want either of you coming back with injuries."

He nods.

"Alright. I'll contact you if there's an emergency, but otherwise I'll see you in a week."

"Bye!" Grayson says, giving him a hug.

"Goodbye, Father," Damian echoes.

"Ready to go, Damian?" Grayson asks.

_No. What am I doing? I should not have agreed to this idiotic plan. It is obviously an attempt to make me accept his fake apologies and..._

He still follows quickly after Grayson. It's like muscle memory; he's so used to being by his side that he does it without thinking.

_Oh well._

* * *

Dick keeps glancing over at Damian as he drives, hoping he might say something, anything, but there's only silence. _Does he really plan on making this as difficult as possible? What am I supposed to do? I don't even know where to start._

He wants to just fix it all with a hug and an "I love you" but that's just wishful thinking. This is Damian, not a normal ten-year-old kid. It won't be that easy to gain his trust back.

_I shouldn't have left._

_No, stop it; you've been through this already. Thinking about it more won't do anything._

Tired of the silence, he starts talking about all kinds of things, trying to keep the mood lighthearted, but it gets harder and harder when he only gets one-word responses and zero interest. By the time they reach his place, it's quiet again.

_Come on, Damian. Give me _something _to work with here. I don't want to be talking to myself for a week._

"Grayson."

"Yes?" he asks eagerly, relieved that he's not the one initiating conversation for once.

"You're as insufferable as always."

_Can I just go back to bed?_

* * *

"Here we are!"

Damian looks around skeptically. "This is where you live?"

"I know it's messy," Grayson says with yet _another_ yawn.

"That's an understatement."

"I was gonna clean, but I was trying to finish up a case before you got here and I ran out of time for anything else."

"Well, I wasn't expecting much anyway. Do you really leave your costume lying around?" he asks, looking at the blue and black pile on the floor and kicking a stray eskrima stick.

"Uh, no. Sorry. I don't think I got much sleep. Maybe an hour. I was pretty out of it." He gathers it up in a bundle and dumps it in his closet. "There."

"You're a pitiful excuse for a vigilante, Grayson."

"Hey, don't insult the guy giving you a place to stay."

"I'll insult whomever I please."

"You never change, do you? Nice to know I haven't missed much."

Damian stops his examination of the room. "You've _missed_ plenty. Or were you having so much fun on your own that you lost track of time?"

"Dami—"

"I'm leaving," he interrupts, already at the door.

"No, no, no, wait!" Grayson intercepts him, slipping in front of the door before he can open it. "I'm sorry. That was stupid. I've had a bad week and I'm tired and I just...I'm trying, okay? Give me a chance."

"Why?" he asks bluntly.

Grayson sighs and reaches out to touch him, but stops when he sees the warning look he's given. "I want this to work out, Damian. I do miss you."

_Then you shouldn't have left._

"At least give me a couple days. Please? I was really looking forward to this."

"...Two days. Then I'm leaving."

"Okay, but then our other deal is invalid."

"What? Why?"

"I'm only letting you tinker with my bike if you stay the whole week."

"Tt. We'll see."

Grayson seems to accept this and takes a step away.

Damian moves away from the door and looks around. "Where should I put my things?"

"Huh? Oh, you'll be staying in my room. Just stick your suitcase wherever."

"Right." He sets it down on the end of the bed. "I assume you have some kind of inane, pointless activities planned?"

Grayson grins. "Of course!"

"If you suggest children's restaurants or the circus, I'm going straight back to Father."

"Okay, okay," he laughs. "I promise, no kiddie restaurants."

Damian narrows his eyes in suspicion. "And the circus?"

"Well…"

"_Grayson._"

"Alright, no circus either," he says, pouting. "Happy?"

"Satisfied. What's the first thing on the agenda?"

"Well, we could start by going out for lunch. Your choice."

"Can't we have something prepared here?"

Grayson rolls his eyes. "In case you haven't noticed, I don't have an Alfred clone hanging around. If you want me to make something, it'll have to be microwaved. And I haven't got a lot to choose from; I forgot to pick up food at the store the other day."

"I refuse to eat anything that comes from that _thing_."

"So we're going out?" Grayson grabs his jacket. "Where to?"

"How should I know?"

"Okay...what kind of food do you want?"

"I don't care."

Grayson sighs. "You have to have _some _idea of what you want. Italian? Chinese? Burgers? Or we could just order pizza?"

"Judging from your trash can, you've eaten pizza at least twice this week already."

"Only because there's this _really_ good place just down the street. If I ask them to deliver, they can be here in five minutes. It's fantastic! I do it all the time."

"So I gathered." Damian lets out a small huff of air. "Fine. Order it."

Grayson looks a little too happy as he dials the number by memory. "What kind?"

Damian shrugs. He's only ever had cheese and pepperoni, and Grayson introduced him to both, not that he was aware of that. Pizza was not exactly considered a staple for the current Batman or the League of Assassins.

"Do you like Hawaiian?"

He shrugs again.

"It's got pineapple and Canadian bacon, want to try it?"

"If I must." He sits down on the sofa and tunes Grayson's voice out with his iPod.

True to his claim, the pizza is there almost instantaneously. Grayson doesn't seem to have a proper dining room, so they eat right there in front of the TV, Grayson making light conversation between slices. "So, what do you think?"

"It's passable," he admits, though he actually thinks it's a step up from what he's tried before. At least there's something _vaguely_ healthy on it other than stringy melted cheese and greasy slices of strange meat.

"Right? It's one of my favorites." He starts rambling about the other types of pizza they serve, but within a few minutes his voice trails off and he's falling asleep over the last remnants of his meal. Half a slice nearly slips out of his hand.

"Tt. Don't make a mess," Damian mutters, snatching it away.

Grayson's eyes flicker halfway open. "'S _my_ apartment."

"Do you have some kind of head injury? You're acting more impaired than usual."

"Huh? No, I'm just…really…tired…" He slumps over, head hitting Damian's shoulder. Whether that's on purpose or not is rather questionable.

"Get off. You're heavy." He shoves him in the other direction and watches the man fall sideways onto the sofa, seemingly asleep. "Idiot." He's tempted to shove the half-eaten slice into the man's face, but decides against it, dropping it back into the box.

Damian grabs the TV remote and searches for something vaguely interesting to watch. Finding nothing, he turns it back off and returns to his music. He'll wake Grayson up when it's time for patrol unless, for some reason, he wakes up on his own. Unlikely, though. He seems to have reached his limit.

That's probably for the best.

He appreciates a few moments of quiet because he's sure there won't be many for the next seven days.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Hello again! Sorry I haven't updated in a few days; I've been at a convention and, while it was a lot of fun, it didn't leave me a whole lot of time for writing. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter. Oh, and as a quick note, I'm pretending Dick's new red Nightwing costume doesn't exist in this fanfic. I don't really like it; the blue one (with fingerstripes!) suits him much better. I'm not sure why they feel the need to color-code the Batfamily in the New 52. So I'm blatantly ignoring the red theme and going with his blue costume here, just in case anyone starts to wonder.**

* * *

Dick wakes up to a sudden blast of sound and scrambles to find his alarm clock before realizing it's coming from his television and Damian is holding the remote.

"What are you doing?" he moans, covering his ears. "Turn it off!"

"It's time to get up," Damian says, looking unimpressed. "You do plan to go on patrol, don't you?"

Dick has half a mind to say no, he doesn't plan to, he's exhausted, but he doubts he'd receive any sympathy. Maybe a kick to the gut if he's lucky.

"I'm up, I'm up." He tumbles to the floor and rolls into a sitting position. "Now turn that off, it's killing me."

Damian smirks and flicks the power off. "If you're not ready in five minutes, I'm leaving without you."

"Don't get cocky. You may know Bruce's route perfectly, but this one's different from what you're used to. Hey, have you worked on your acrobatic skills lately?" he asks curiously.

The disdainful expression on Damian's face tells him all he needs to know.

"Right. I'll give you a refresher course while you're here."

"I don't need a _refresher course_, Grayson. Just because I wasn't raised in a filthy circus—"

"Watch it," Dick warns him. He'll only take so much of Damian's superiority when it comes to memories of his childhood home.

"Tt." Damian gets up and grabs a bundle of clothing from his suitcase. "Where do you change?"

"Wherever it's convenient."

"That's careless. Don't you think people might start to notice if Nightwing comes and goes from this apartment all the time?"

"I take precautions. I keep a low profile." He grabs his Nightwing costume from his closet and tosses it onto the couch. "And while we're on that topic, you probably shouldn't broadcast the fact that you're Bruce's son while you're here. You don't want to attract the wrong kind of attention."

"Your wisdom is astounding."

"Speaking of my astounding wisdom, you won't be needing your Robin outfit."

"What do you mean?" he asks suspiciously.

"I got you a new costume!" Dick whips out something from his closet and flourishes it with a wide grin.

Damian stares at the piece of clothing. It's basically a smaller version of Dick's Nightwing costume, save that this one has a cape and hood attached, just like his Robin one except in black. "What is this, Grayson?"

"Your new costume! We'll match!"

Damian doesn't look impressed. "And what do you presume I will call myself when I'm running around in a knockoff Nightwing costume?"

"You could be Miniwing," Dick says with a smirk, barely able to dodge the kick aimed at his groin. "I'm kidding! Come on, it'll be fun! Try it on!"

"No."

"But I designed it just for you!" He holds it out proudly. "Alfred made it, though!"

"I don't care; get it away from me."

Dick begins chasing him around the room, costume in hand. "But why? Don't you want to look as awesome as I do? I even gave it fingerstripes!"

"Why the hell would I want those?" Damian dodges him and vaults over the bed to put more space between them.

"Why _not?_" He follows Damian over the bed, doing a flip before landing in front of him and attempting to corner him.

"It's completely unnecessary. And there's no reason I can't wear my Robin costume."

"But it'll look really cool if we match!"

"You have no fashion sense whatsoever, Grayson."

"I do too!" he protests.

"I've seen the pictures. Most of your previous costumes were hideous."

"_Most_ of them?"

"_All _of them," Damian corrects himself quickly.

"I've improved since then! This is perfect for you!"

"No."

"I gave it a hood. You like hoods."

"I find them useful, Grayson. There's a difference."

"Useful for what? Rainy days?" He grins. "C'mon, I really worked hard on it. I even told Alfred to make the cape and everything the same weight as the one you usually wear so you won't be off balance."

"I'm not going to wear it."

"Please?"

"Begging will not help your cause, however entertaining it might be to watch."

"You're no fun," Dick whines. "I'm going to make you wear it at least once."

"If you try and force me into that thing, I'll shove a knife into your throat."

Dick decides it's a lost cause—for now—and lets Damian be Robin. It actually is a bit disappointing, but he's determined to get Damian into it at some point. It doesn't help that seeing him as Robin makes him remember how close they used to be and why their relationship is so strained now. He carefully tucks the smaller costume away in its place, smoothing out the cape fondly.

"I hate these things," he whispers to himself, but there's something reassuring about seeing Damian's yellow cape as they patrol that night, however painful a reminder it is of his mistake.

Damian's still a great Robin. Even better than before, thanks to Bruce's guidance.

_Well, Bruce is his father. I was just a stand-in for a little while. I've always known that._

_Isn't that why I left?_


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Hi there! Sorry for the slight delay on this chapter, but things are kind of busy for me right now. I'll be starting college soon, so updates may end up being a little more sporadic. I'll still try for at least two chapters a week, though. That said, please enjoy this one, and thank you all for continuing to follow this story!**

* * *

They get back to Grayson's apartment in the early hours of the morning, and Damian watches the man crash onto his sofa, exhausted. His eyes are already closed and his breathing is slow and steady, despite the fact that he hasn't changed out of his clothes.

_Idiot._

Damian leaves him there and goes back to "his" room, pulling pajamas from his suitcase and changing quickly. He looks around the room, curious as to what personal items Grayson would keep. There's not a lot—it's a new place, after all—but there's a plain bulletin board on the wall next to the bed that's covered in pictures. In the center is a poster from Haley's Circus that Damian vaguely remembers seeing in Grayson's room before he moved out. It's pinned to the board carefully, despite its tattered edges and yellow tinge. Around it are a multitude of photos of Grayson with other people. There are pictures from his time with the Titans, pictures of him and Bruce in what must have been his early days as Robin, pictures of him and Todd, and Drake, and Brown, and Cain, and Gordon. Everyone he cares about is scattered haphazardly across the cork, pushpins sticking out at odd angles, no pattern to be found.

Damian approaches it slowly, eyes tracing over every face. He recognizes most of them, but there are a few strangers here and there. He can tell that this whole strange collage is pure _Grayson_, that it's a simple reminder of all the people in his life and all the memories, but…

He's not here.

Frantically, he searches every picture, even moving some aside to make sure there's nothing underneath—_even though they're newer pictures, so they'd be on top, but_—but there's nothing there. He stumbles back, knees giving out as he backs into the bed.

_I'm not here._

It shouldn't be a surprise. It shouldn't be a surprise at all. It shouldn't make him feel like part of him has been ripped away. It shouldn't hurt.

He knows. He knows Grayson doesn't care, but…

_Can't he at least pretend?_

Damian slams his fist into the bed.

_Stop it. You're fine. It doesn't hurt. He's not important._

Shaking, he reaches one hand into his suitcase for his sketchbook, automatically flipping to the middle and pulling out the picture Brown had given him.

_Damn you. Stop smiling, Grayson. Stop lying._

And he wants so desperately to rip the photo into shreds, but he can't.

_The New Dynamic Duo._

_Not anymore._

_Or maybe we were never really Batman and Robin anyway._

_That's what Grayson seems to think._

* * *

Damian's not able to sleep at all that night. He doesn't want to confront whatever is waiting for him in his dreams. Instead, he makes sure his door is securely shut, turns off the light, and sits there on the bed, staring toward the wall with the pictures. At one point, he uses his phone to light a small portion of it and takes a spare tack from the board. Carefully, he presses his own picture to the mish-mash of Grayson's and stabs the tack through near the top.

_What was true, Grayson?_

_Obviously not your promise that we'd keep being Batman and Robin._

_What about everything else?_

_If you never really cared about it, why do you bother trying to gain my forgiveness?_

_Why go to the trouble of having me stay here and making me a stupid new costume?_

_I don't understand._

He stares at the corner with his picture for a moment. It seems out of place; all these are casual pictures, out of costume, presumably to protect secret identities should anyone else stumble upon his belongings.

Damian yanks the tack out and lets the picture drift to the floor.

_It doesn't belong on there._

"Fine," he whispers. "I don't care."

* * *

Damian avoids Grayson as much as possible the next day. When he asks what's wrong, he ignores him, lies, or insults him, whatever he needs to do to keep up this illusion because _he can't bring himself to look at Grayson's face._

It's probably obvious, but he doesn't care.

He doesn't want to talk. He doesn't want to be placated by kind words. He doesn't want affectionate gestures.

He wants to go home.

He wants to get away from this stupid, tiny apartment that makes him feel like he can't breathe, where Grayson is always mere steps away, where he has to look at the evidence that Grayson is _Nightwing _now and he _wants_ to be Nightwing.

But he's not sure he wants to go back to his father either. After all, if he comes back early, it will be assumed that something went wrong or that he's just being stubborn, and he'll most likely be sent straight back. And then Grayson will be all over him, trying to figure out why he left, and he doesn't want Grayson anywhere _near_ him.

He'll stay. He'll endure it for a week. There isn't any rule that he and Grayson have to interact during this time, only that he stay here.

"Damian?" Grayson appears in the doorway.

"What?" he snaps.

"You want to go out? I thought we could—"

"I'm not interested," he interrupts sharply.

"But—"

"Leave me alone."

"Damian, we have to talk sometime—"

"We do not! Get out!"

"This is _my_ room, kiddo."

"Tt. Out."

"Fine. But we _are_ going to talk later, whether you like it or not." He pauses. "Also…"

"What? You're trying my patience."

"And you're trying mine. Why aren't you looking at me?"

"_Out_."

"Sure, sure, I'm out. Dinner's in ten minutes if you feel like coming out, Your Highness."

* * *

Not long after, Grayson reappears at the door. "Well, I made dinner, if you're willing to, you know, put up with my presence for a few minutes."

"What did you make?" Damian asks suspiciously.

"Macaroni!" he replies with a smile.

"Do you mean that microwaved plastic you tricked me into eating once?"

"Nope, it's from a box!"

"Tt. Pitiful." He gets up and follows Grayson to the living room, where two large bowls of the yellow-orange pasta are waiting.

"So," Grayson continues after a few bites. "Any specific reason you're barely speaking to me today? I mean, yesterday you seemed alright. Relatively alright, anyway. You were talking to me."

Damian ignores him and stares intently at his food.

"What did I do?"

"I think that much should be obvious," he mutters under his breath.

"What?" Grayson leans over, looking concerned. "Seriously, Damian, what is it? You've barely come out of there all day."

"That's none of your concern—"

"Look at me!" Grayson forces Damian's face up and looks intently into his dark eyes. "What's wrong?"

And it's such a familiar tone, such a reassuring smile, such friendly eyes, just like he used to have, and Damian hates it. He has no right to act like this, to keep pretending, to confuse him with nice words that end up meaning nothing. "Get away," he hisses, standing and getting back to his room as fast as possible. The macaroni sits on the floor, ignored as Grayson races after him and attempts to catch the door before it closes.

"Dami!"

"Don't." Damian slams the door, nearly crushing the other's fingers in the process. Alone, he sinks back down onto the bed.

_Don't do this, Grayson. I want to hate you. Don't make it so hard to hate you._


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I'm alive! I think it's been a week since my last update, but I promise I haven't been abducted by aliens or anything! I've been super busy with college stuff and moving in and a bunch of activities, and I'm not even sure how I'm awake at this moment. If I'm speaking gibberish, it's because I'm exhausted. Thankfully, I had most of this chapter done prior to all this, so it will not be as weird as this note. Maybe I should just shut up and let you read it. That's probably a good idea. But before I do, thank you to everyone! I've got nearly 50 people following this story now, and you're all so kind with your reviews, and I really appreciate it! Next update will be Sunday or later.**

* * *

Dick wakes up in the middle of the night—he had decided earlier that both he and Damian could use a night off—and isn't able to go back to sleep. There's a tiny, nagging worry in the back of his mind about the younger boy asleep in his room, remembering the nightmares he seemed to have been having a few days ago. Now that he thinks about it, Damian hadn't looked very good today either, with shadows under his eyes and a constant irritability which was probably from lack of sleep.

Dick stretches and rises to his feet, sneaking over to the door and peeking through a tiny crack, not wanting to disturb Damian if he really is asleep.

When his eyes adjust to the darkness, he can just make out Damian, lying stiffly in the bed, like he does when he says he's just resting or meditating, not fully asleep. There doesn't seem to be anything wrong, no matter how uncomfortable that position always seems to Dick, so he slowly backs away.

"Grayson, what are you doing sneaking into my room?"

_Oops._ "It's my room; I think I get full sneaking privileges."

Damian makes a small dissatisfied noise and sits up. "Why are you here?"

"Just checking up on you."

"That's not necessary."

"I want to make sure you're getting enough sleep."

"When my sleeping patterns become your concern, I shall inform you myself. Until then, I would prefer that people stop questioning my habits."

"...Bruce called you out on this too, didn't he?"

"Shut up."

"We're just worried, Damian. All families worry when there's something wrong."

"Oh, I see, and you would know all about that since you have no parents."

Dick flinches and nearly retaliates with a biting comeback of his own, but stops. "Family doesn't have to be related by blood."

"Right. If you're done being sentimental, I'm going back to sleep."

"You weren't sleeping."

"Like I said, none of your concern."

"Don't make the conversation go in circles to avoid me. Why aren't you sleeping?"

"Because you're talking incessantly."

"Okay, enough." Dick grabs him by the arm and pulls him closer. "Stop being a smartass and give me a real answer."

Damian looks back at him stubbornly.

"You're having nightmares, right? It's always better to talk to someone about it."

"If I wanted to talk to you, I would have done so."

"Damian. Hey. Stop pushing me away for two seconds. I know you're mad, but—"

"_Mad? _You think I'm _mad?_ You think this is some petty argument that you can fix with a hug? In case you hadn't noticed, that's not going to work."

"Damian, I'm—"

"Oh, and now you're going to say you're sorry. How nice." He shoves Dick away. "I'm not interested."

"Damian—"

"Get out."

"No."

Damian glares at him. "What?"

"I said no. I'm tired of all this, Dami. Why can't we be like before?"

"Because you_ left_."

"I know I left, but…come on, Damian, you can't hate me forever," he finishes softly.

The next words out of the boy's mouth are so quiet he can't catch them.

"What?"

"I can." But it's unsure, like he's trying to convince himself of that fact too.

"Dami, look at me." He leans a little closer, but doesn't try to touch him. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I know I can't fix that, and I know that it'll probably happen again, but you can't do this…thing forever, okay? I'm not saying you have to forgive and forget, but that first part would be nice, y'know?"

Damian looks intently at his interlocked hands, not responding.

"Hey, at least acknowledge that I exist."

"I can't forgive you."

"Mm, I figured you'd say that," he murmurs, disappointed. "Will you at least _talk_ to me? It may seem silly, but it really does help to talk about your nightmares."

"I don't have nightmares."

"Right." He pauses. "Well, _I_ do."

"Grayson, if you start—"

"Oh, but you asked for it! If _you're_ not going to share, someone has to!"

"I don't want to hear it. I know what you're going to say."

"And why is that?" Dick asks.

Damian glances up, confused. "Because you've told me before."

"And why did I tell you?"

"I presumed it was because you like to hear your own voice."

Dick frowns slightly. "I do not. Anyway, that's not why I told you." He leans in closer with a smile. "I told you because I trust you, Damian."

He snorts derisively. "That's funny, Grayson. I was under the impression that trust meant sharing things with someone."

"I _do_—"

"You _didn't._ You didn't say _anything_ to me."

"What? Of course I did!"

"No, you told Father. I just happened to be there at the same time."

_And he wanted me to tell him first, privately, because we were partners_, Dick realizes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way."

"To be honest, Grayson, I'm not sure that you _mean_ anything that you do."

And _that_ hurts. That hurts twice as much as being ignored, because _Damian really doesn't trust him anymore._

"Go back to bed. I have nothing left to say to you. I will return to my father in the morning."

"You can't!" Dick blurts out desperately. _This is the only chance I'm getting to make things right, and it can't be over already._

"I _can._" Damian looks pointedly at the door. "That's all."

_No. That's not…This isn't how I planned things. I thought this week would be good for both of us, but I'm just making it worse somehow._

"That's _all,_" Damian repeats when he doesn't move.

"No," Dick whispers. "No, that's not all." He kneels on the edge of the bed, hovering over Damian. "I'm not going to let you push me away anymore."

"What are you—"

"I'm not letting you leave until you talk to me. _Really_ talk to me." He touches Damian's shoulder, only to be pushed away again. "You're hurting. I don't want that."

"You're the one at fault."

"I know."

Damian seems unsure of what to say to that.

"Tell me about your dream, little one," Dick says softly, crawling into the bed next to Damian so they're seated side-by-side.

"Don't call me that," he snaps. "And it's nothing. As the son of Batman, I am not affected by such trivial things."

"You're just as human as the rest of us." He pauses. "Who's there? In your dream?"

"No one."

"Come on, don't make me ask you a million times."

"No, really, there's no one." Damian breaks eye contact again and stares down at his hands.

"So…you're the only one there?" He doesn't want to press too hard.

"Correct."

"Where's everyone else?"

"How should I know?! It's a stupid dream; it doesn't have to make sense."

"But…I don't get it."

"It doesn't matter."

"But you were—"

"I was _what?_"

Dick sighs. "Never mind. Get some sleep; we'll talk in the morning."

"I'm leaving in the morning."

"We'll see."

The door clicks shut behind him.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Hi! Here's the new chapter as promised! Special thanks to my friend (you know who you are~) who I just told about this fic and who's been really awesome and supportive! And of course, thank you to everyone reading this story-you're fantastic!**

* * *

Dick wastes no time in getting up in the morning, even though he's still drowsy and sore from accidentally falling off his sofa during the night. It takes him about two minutes to make toast and pour orange juice into a glass before rushing towards Damian's room—wait, isn't it _his_ room?—and knocking rapidly.

"What do you want?" Damian's voice is softer than usual, with a hint more of his accent coming through, as it always does when he's not entirely awake. Dick rarely hears it and never comments on it, because Damian nearly strangled him for calling it cute once.

"I made breakfast!"

"I told you, I'm leaving."

"No, you agreed to talk to me first! That's why I'm bringing you breakfast in bed!"

"I did not agree to that and I am not in bed, so it would probably be more beneficial to throw whatever monstrosity you created out the window."

Dick groans and opens the door anyway, finding Damian hanging from the ceiling. "It's just toast. Even I can't mess up toast."

He receives a look for that one.

"Alright, so I messed up once. Cut me some slack; it was a new toaster and I hadn't used it before."

"Of course it was." Damian lands neatly next to the bed.

"Shut up." Dick settles down on the bed next to where Damian is standing. He feels somewhat reassured by their usual banter, even if it does seem a bit strained, like they're both trying a little too hard for it to be natural. "So," he begins, "did you sleep alright?" He sees the dark glare directed at him and quickly backtracks. "Breakfast. Here."

Damian accepts the toast, looking at it suspiciously.

"What? I didn't poison it."

"Is that the standard for judging quality now?" He examines the slice from all angles before taking a small bite. "What, are you going to watch me eat?"

"Why not? You might run off if I leave you alone for too long!" he says happily.

Damian slowly lowers the toast back to the plate, eyes darkening. "_Now_ you're worried about leaving me alone?"

Dick's hands flew up defensively. "Wait, wait, I wasn't—"

"_Now?_" Damian demands. "You were fine leaving me with Father for _months_, but now you want to make sure I don't 'run off'? In case you hadn't noticed, _you're_ the one who ran away."

"I wasn't running—"

"You left with no warning; what else would you call it?"

"I was trying to help—"

"Help _what_, Grayson? My father? Gotham? Don't make excuses."

"No!" Dick retorts, his own voice rising because he's irritated that he keeps getting interrupted. "Believe it or not, I _had_ a good reason for leaving, Damian!"

"Oh, I _know_ you had a reason. Tell me, what stunted logic did you use to qualify your actions?"

"I was trying to do the right thing! Bruce came back, and I wanted you to have a chance to spend time with your father!"

"I didn't want my father!"

"You better be damn happy Bruce isn't here to hear you say that."

"I don't care!"

"You don't _care?_" Dick leans in close, all of his usual cheer gone. "Do you have any idea how precious a gift that is? To have parents? Do you know how many times I wished mine were still alive? I would have given anything to have them back, and you're passing up a chance to be with your father just because maybe he's not what you expected?"

"Grayson—" he begins.

"Do you know how lucky you are to even have that option? Shit, Damian, open your eyes already!"

"_Grayson—_"

"Don't you _dare_ tell me I'm wrong about this, Damian. I may have been wrong to leave the way I did, but I will _never_ regret letting you and Bruce work together."

"Like you regret leaving at all," Damian snarls.

"I do! Of course I do! I hate having one of my little brothers mad at me!"

"Well, it's good that you care about Todd and Drake more, then!"

"More? I don't love anyone _more_, Damian!" _I love all of you._

"Liar. You think I can't tell?"

"I _think_ you're trying to convince yourself that there's something wrong with you that made me leave!"

Damian freezes.

_Shit, that was too far._

"You—You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Damian—"

He lowers his eyes to the floor. "I know perfectly well why you left; there's no need to keep it a secret."

"Damian, I told you…"

"You _lied._ You always lie! Just get out!"

"No, listen to me. Just this once, _listen_," Dick pleads. "I didn't leave because of anything you did. I was trying to _help_ you."

"I don't need your help or your pity or your condescending—"

"I'm not—"

"You _are._ I'm not a child, and I don't need you to comfort me!"

"Damian," Dick says softly, "I know you're strong. I've always known that. Wanting someone to comfort you and love you isn't a weakness."

"I don't want anyone to love me!" Damian shouts, stumbling back a few steps.

"Oh," Dick breathes, standing and stretching out a hand to touch the boy's shoulder, "I don't believe that."

He flinches and takes a few more steps away. "You should. I'm an assassin."

"I don't believe that either," he murmurs, letting his hand fall back to his side. "You _used_ to be an assassin. You're Robin now."

"I'm _his_ Robin," he says, defiance creeping back into his voice in an attempt to cover his vulnerability, but he sounds like he's about to break apart.

"I know."

"I'm his Robin because you _left._ Because you no longer had a use for me."

"What does that mean?" He's never seen this much insecurity in Damian's expression before.

"People _use_ me, Grayson!" Damian's voice nearly breaks, but he corrects it immediately. "My grandfather, my mother, everyone—they use me until it becomes inconvenient, and then they just leave me behind! I'm not an idiot! That's what people _do!_ I simply let my guard down by accident when it came to you and—and—" He draws a shaky breath. "I showed you every weakness, Grayson! I trusted you with everything! In the League of Assassins, that would have meant death! I should have known it was just the same pattern repeating, but—"

"No," Dick interrupts urgently, enclosing Damian in a warm hug before he has a chance to slip out of reach again. "No, no, _no_, Damian. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. That wasn't it at all. I just…I thought I was doing the right thing. I know it was a mistake, and I'm sorry, but don't _ever_ think I was just using you. I left you behind because I _cared_, not because I thought you were useless. You are anything _but_ useless, Dami. I love you. I'm sorry."

"You aren't. You don't. You're lying. Let go." He attempts to pull himself away, rigid in Dick's tight hold.

"No. I'm not letting you go."

"But I'm not—"

"Why are you so convinced I don't care about you?" Dick asks gently.

"You left."

"And you keep saying that, but you're leaving out the important part." He squeezed Damian tightly. "I _came back._"

"Not really."

"Really. I'm not going to just disappear forever." He loosens his hold a little and tries to get Damian to look at him. "Now tell me what's bothering you. All of it."

"Nothing's bothering me."

"Tt."

Damian's head shoots up so fast he nearly hits Dick's chin. "Are you _mocking me_, Grayson?"

"Never," Dick replies with a playful glint in his eye. "Just expressing my disbelief and annoyance."

"I'm going to kill you. Slowly and painfully."

"Sure you will," he laughs before sobering again. "But, seriously, Damian, tell me."

He nearly misses the way Damian's eyes flicker over to his wall.

"Hm? The pictures? Cool, right? I've got one of everybody!"

"I know," Damian whispers.

"Hey." He tilts Damian's chin up. "What is it?"

"Tt. I'm…not."

"Not?" He looks between Damian and the pictures a couple more times. "_Oh!_"

"Don't laugh."

"I'm not. I just didn't expect you to notice that kind of thing."

Damian glares at him.

"It's really not what you're thinking. I promise. It's actually kind of funny!" He quickly stops when he sees the infuriated look on Damian's face. "No, really. Come with me for a sec."

Damian allows himself to be pulled out of the room and dragged over to the tiny kitchen area.

"There. See?"

Damian stares blankly at the refrigerator standing in front of him. Photos are scattered across the front, magnets sticking them to the appliance haphazardly. There are maybe a dozen casual pictures in total, all with the two of them together at the manor and a few other locations. Damian hadn't even known some of them existed. "What…"

"Ah, well, I guess it's just one of those things, like parents putting their kids' accomplishments on the fridge? Or something. I mean, I'm not your parent. I just missed seeing you all the time, so…they just ended up here. I guess you didn't notice since you've been hiding out in my room most of the time you've been here and—Damian?"

He had remained absolutely still as Dick spoke, but now there was a quiet trembling in his shoulders. "It…wasn't because of me?" he asks faintly. "I wasn't a bad Robin?"

Dick smiles and wraps his arms around the smaller boy, chin resting on the top of his head. "Never."

That's all it takes. One word, and Damian whips around to bury his face in Dick's shirt, holding on so tightly it seems like he's glued there. "I'm not crying," he mutters shakily.

"That's okay. I am." Dick holds him just as tightly, warmth spreading through him as he realizes that _it's okay, they're okay, Damian's hugging him._ He slips down to his knees, pulling Damian onto his lap and taking slow, deep breaths as he rubs circles into Damian's back. "You'll be okay, little one."

They sit huddled together on the kitchen floor, Dick's quiet words floating in and out while Damian holds on and says nothing, the slight trembling and the damp spots on Dick's shirt the only things betraying his lack of control.

Dick simply lets his tears slip down his face, relieved and happy to be this close to his youngest brother once again. He strokes Damian's hair gently, rubs his back, trying to ease the tension that's built up to a breaking point. After many long minutes, he feels him gradually start to relax and shifts his position just slightly. "Alright?"

Damian pulls away sharply and wipes at his eyes, chin held high. "I am fine, Grayson. You're the one sobbing your eyes out."

"Oh, _really?_" Dick pokes him in the forehead. "I think the evidence would say differently."

Before Damian can reply with a scathing comment on Dick's ridiculousness and sentimentality, he finds himself pulled back into hug. "What are you doing?"

"Shh. It's my privilege as your big brother," he murmurs softly, rocking them back and forth just slightly. "I love you, Dami."

"Grayson—"

"All death threats will be ignored. It's cuter when knives aren't in the equation." Dick presses a kiss to the top of Damian's head. "Are we okay now?"

"Tt."

Dick feels small arms wrap around his torso and smiles. _We're okay._


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Hello again! I'm sorry it's been a full week since the last chapter, but I've got a lot going on lately. Thank you to everyone who's been following this story, and also to my reviewers. It's obviously winding down now, but I'm not done with this story yet! Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

There are only a few moments of awkwardness once Damian's calmed down and Grayson lets him out of the longest hug he's ever experienced to make him a decent breakfast. He eats and listens to Grayson talk about all sorts of trivial things to lighten the atmosphere. After a little while, Grayson suggests they train together, which is, oddly enough, just what Damian has wanted to do. The familiar rhythm of sparring with Grayson is a relief. It's better than talking. This is all about movement, and predicting his…no, not his partner…_Nightwing's_ moves, and countering, and attacking. He hopes Grayson finds his improvements satisfactory. His father has taken to training him quite often, teaching him ways to expand his repertoire.

Grayson is as smooth and flexible as always, and it's reassuring to know he hasn't changed. He's almost disappointed as they wind down, doing a few stretches before grabbing their water bottles. It's the _talking_ he's not looking forward to. Grayson is the sort that won't just leave things alone. He's going to expect some kind of heart-to-heart sentimentality and Damian doesn't feel anywhere near ready for something like that.

"You've really improved, Little D!" Grayson says cheerfully, ruffling Damian's hair shamelessly.

"Tt," he mutters, trying not to show his pleasure at receiving praise.

"Bruce taught you that move near the end, right?"

Damian nods.

"Yeah, I thought so! He tried to teach it to me back when I was Robin, but I never had the right build for it. I got all upset because I wanted to be able to look as awesome as he did, but I couldn't. Alfred slipped me an extra slice of cake later and told me my acrobatic skills put Bruce to shame, so I shouldn't worry about not being able to do all the same things."

"How touching," Damian says sarcastically.

"I spent the next hour running around doing flips and trying to get Bruce to pay attention to me."

"And?"

"He was actually pretty impressed…after I apologized for breaking a family heirloom."

Damian lets out a tiny breath of laughter. "Typical."

"Hey!" Grayson protests, giving him a little shove. "It was a long time ago! I was only a little older than you are now!"

"The thought of you being any more immature is rather amazing."

"You should have seen me when I first started out—" he begins.

"No! You are not going to regale me with stories of your childhood again!"

"Why not?" Grayson whines.

"I've heard them all at least twice, Grayson."

"Fine!" he huffs. "_You_ tell a story!"

Damian shoots him a strange look. _About what? The League of Assassins?_ "I don't have any," he says finally.

Grayson pouts. "You have to have at least one!"

"No."

"What, don't tell me you never did anything fun!"

Damian glances away for a second. _"Fun" wasn't really a factor until you showed up, Grayson._

"Okay, that does it! I'm taking you to the circus!"

"What? No! Grayson!" Damian finds his arm being yanked forward, and he takes a few steps to regain his balance before jogging to keep pace with Grayson. "You said you wouldn't drag me to that stupid—"

"I did? Seems to have slipped my mind. Now come on! It'll be great!"

"No. _Hell no._ You'll use it as an excuse to treat me like a child and—"

"Would that be so bad?"

Damian blinks, wondering when Grayson stopped dragging him to the door and turned to face him eye-to-eye. He meets the stare, not wavering.

"Hm?" He tilts his head. "Is it really _that bad_ to be treated like you're ten years old? You don't have to try and act like an adult all the time." He reaches out and ruffles Damian's hair, then leaves his hand there, thumb stroking gently over the boy's forehead to smooth out the tiny crease there.

Damian leans ever so slightly into the touch, and this seems to be taken as some form of consent because the next thing he knows, they're outside. "Grayson, I did not agree to this."

"Too bad! You're coming anyway!"

"I will not be dragged into your—"

"Not listening!" Grayson sings, shoving him into the car and gracefully dodging the punches and kicks thrown his direction.

An unfortunately short amount of time later, Damian finds himself propelled toward the entrance of the circus. Grayson has this ridiculously huge smile on his face and is attempting to look in all directions at once—_what is he, a child?_—and he keeps poking Damian and pointing to different things until Damian's about ready to snap his finger off. Heaven forbid Grayson ever take him to his own circus; it would be twice as bad.

"Dami, look over there!"

"If you touch me one more time…"

"Let's get cotton candy!"

"Do you _like_ cavities?"

"Never had one!" he replies happily, accepting two fluffy sticks of cotton candy from the booth. "You?"

"Tt. I was raised on a balanced diet to ensure my perfection."

Grayson laughs. "Is that so? _Perfection? _Seems like you've still got a ways to go."

Damian scowls and snatches the cotton candy out of his hand.

"I'm kidding, Mr. I'm-the-Perfect-Ten-Year-Old-Even-Though-I've-Never-Had-Cotton-Candy-Before."

"I have—"

"What, you think I can't tell? After all this time?" Grayson pulls off a bit of Damian's cotton candy and pops it in his mouth. "Eat. It's fantastic."

Damian slowly copies Grayson's method and tastes the sweet substance dissolving on his tongue. "What is this, Grayson, pure sugar?"

He lets out a dramatic sigh. "Damian, you're thinking too hard! Relax, enjoy it, have fun!"

"Right." Damian jams the wad of fluff into Grayson's face without hesitation. "I guess it wasn't a total waste."

Grayson gapes at him through a blur of pink cotton candy. "Oh, you're just asking for it now!"

"Grayson. Grayson, don't you dare—" His next words are muffled by a sea of cotton candy. He takes off running after Grayson, who had the smarts to start his escape immediately. They run through the place without abandon, not heeding the shouts as they dart through the crowds. Damian's chasing Grayson for at least ten minutes before he somehow loses sight of him and stops, slightly out of breath from his sprint and brushing the last bits of cotton candy from his face. He scans the area, not finding any sign of the man and is about to double back and search when he catches sight of something above him. At some point they must have run into the main performance tent—which would explain all the disgruntled people yelling at him to leave—and Grayson has scaled a ladder and gotten onto the trapeze. Now he's dangling upside-down with a huge grin.

"Hey, Dami! Come up here with me!"

"Not a chance." Damian glares up at him, but he can see all too well they won't be leaving anytime soon. Grayson looks perfectly at home there, ignoring the calls from various members of the circus (and the audience) below him to get down. There's probably a performance starting soon; the seats are beginning to fill.

"C'mon, it's great!" Grayson swings back and forth with ease, twisting into a different position and then jumping to another bar.

"Stop showing off and get down here, Grayson!"

There's a sudden rush of whispers saying "Grayson?" and "_That_ Grayson?" and "I thought he looked familiar!"

He forgot Grayson is actually well-known in this crowd…not to mention his connection to the wealthy Bruce Wayne, which the growing audience would definitely be aware of.

A few people shout up at him to keep going, and Grayson laughs and complies, flying through the air like it's no more difficult than breathing. There is something…compelling about the performance, Damian has to admit. He stands captivated for a moment—he rarely sees Grayson like this—until nearby voices snap him out of it.

"Who's the kid?" someone asks in a low voice. "His son?"

"Son? He's not married, is he?"

"They do say he's a flirt, but I hadn't heard…"

Damian clenches his fists. _What, you idiots know his face but not mine?_ He can only stand a few more comments before he's ready to leap into the crowd and start dealing blows, preferably somewhere that hurts.

"But the kid seems too old to be his son. You don't think he's one of _those_, do you?" someone just behind him asks.

_Enough. _Damian turns sharply. "The next person to say anything against Grayson is _dead._"

It earns a few startled gasps and one very daring person asking, "Who _are_ you, kid?"

"Damian _Wayne._ And the next person to call me a kid is going to be—"

A hand falls to his shoulder, making him pause. "That's enough, little bro."

Damian looks away. "Tt."

"Let's go home, alright?" Grayson grabs his hand and starts to lead him out, flashing apologetic smiles at the circus troupe.

"Let go of me," Damian mutters under his breath.

"Uh-uh," Grayson replies through a tight smile. "Just keep up the act until we're back in the car."

He does, halfheartedly, sinking into the passenger seat with a dark look in his eyes. "Why do you let them insult you?"

Grayson just smiles sadly and shrugs. "It's just gossip. Nothing I haven't heard before."

"And you let them insinuate that you're—"

"Look, Damian, it doesn't matter. People are always going to make comments like that. Believe me, Bruce has gotten worse insults, especially back when he first took me in."

"It doesn't _matter?_" he asks indignantly.

"No," Grayson says firmly. "It doesn't matter what they say about us."

"But—"

"I'm not saying it's right, or that it doesn't hurt, but we shouldn't spend our time worrying about it." He hums thoughtfully. "They were talking about you too, weren't they, Dami? Sorry."

"I don't care."

Grayson smiles gently. "Okay. Then, thank you for trying to defend my honor."

He frowns and remains silent. _It's not like I could just stand there while they talk about my partner—no, we're not partners—_Grayson_ like that._

He can see the hug coming and moves out of the way, thoughts racing through his mind.

_We're…back to being like this, but what am I supposed to call it? What happens once this week is over? Won't he just…leave again?_


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Hello again! I am so, so sorry for the delay on this chapter! It was a combination of not having the time and not being able to get it the way I wanted, but it's ready now! Thank you all for sticking with me; it means a lot.**

* * *

As they walk back into his apartment, Dick can tell Damian's fighting exhaustion. They've done a lot of running around today, he supposes, but it's obviously more than that, because he _knows_ Damian can train for much longer without giving in to fatigue.

_He's still not sleeping well, is he?_

It's not that much of a surprise. He knows he's probably the cause of it too, and he hates that, but it really is time for all of this to stop, for Damian to feel like himself again, for Dick to be taking care of him like before.

_Even though it's not like before._

_But it's close enough._

Dick throws an arm around Damian's shoulders and guides him to his bedroom. "Time to rest, Dami."

"I don't need to rest," he retorts, but he sits down on the edge of the bed anyway. "It's too early."

"Says the boy who didn't sleep at all last night."

Damian narrows his eyes. "I slept."

"Through the night?" Dick asks knowingly. "Come on, lie down for a little while and get your energy back. I promise I won't go on patrol without you."

"Tt." Damian methodically pulls back the covers and slips underneath silently, not closing his eyes.

"Do you want me to stay?" Dick murmurs, messing with the smaller boy's hair.

"No," he says sharply.

"That's too bad," Dick says with a yawn and a mischievous smirk. "I'm exhausted, and the couch makes me sore." He flops down on the bed next to Damian. "Cozy?"

"Cramped."

"Perfect." Dick pulls Damian closer and kisses his forehead. "Now sleep, little one. I promise I won't leave."

"You've said that before."

Dick winces. "I thought we…"

"It's fine. You can go sleep in the other room."

He can see the tenseness in Damian's shoulders, his entire body. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"If it's nothing, then let me stay with you and stop complaining." He taps him on the cheek. "Really, Damian, stop worrying and just sleep."

He presses his lips together in a thin line, oddly reminiscent of Bruce in one of his moods.

"It's okay. I'll wake you up if you have a nightmare."

"I thought you were going to sleep."

"I'll wake up."

"How?"

"Intuition." Dick sighs. "What is it really? This dream?"

"I told you," Damian says quietly, not making eye contact.

Dick frowns and tries to recall what they had said before. "But you just pretended it was nothing when I tried to get you to talk."

"I answered your question."

_Who's there? In your dream?_

_No one._

"You said…there wasn't anyone in your dreams. I thought you were trying to get me to leave you alone."

"I was."

_Ouch._

"That doesn't mean I was lying."

Oh. _Oh._ So that was it. He feels terrible for not understanding before.

Damian's terrified of being alone. So scared he refuses to sleep for fear he might have to experience that loneliness over and over again.

Dick quickly pulls Damian into a tight, warm hug. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm so sorry I made you feel like that. I swear I never meant to abandon you, Damian."

"What are you—"

"I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have left, I just...I didn't think it would matter that much to y—ow!" A small fist connects with his stomach and he lets go.

"You didn't think it _mattered to me?_ You didn't think it mattered that we were partners for that long? That you were the only person who…"

Dick notices the way Damian stops himself and the confusion and anger etched on his face. "I didn't mean it like that. But you weren't the only one hurt, Damian. How do you think it feels to be told someone you care about hates you?"

"I wouldn't know."

"That was rhetorical," Dick says with a faint smile, pulling him back into a hug. "And it hurts a lot. It makes you feel like you never mattered to them."

"Oh," Damian says quietly. "I'm…sorry."

The words are so soft that Dick nearly misses them and Damian doesn't say anything else, just returns the hug hesitantly. Dick, for once, finds himself at a loss for what to do, so he just stays perfectly still. It's the first time he's heard Damian apologize sincerely to anyone. "Thanks," he whispers finally, fighting back tears as his arms tighten around his little brother.

Damian nods into his shoulder.

"And I'm sorry I made you feel like you were alone." He releases him slowly and rests a hand on his shoulder. "You know you're not, right?"

"Tt."

"You're _not_," he insists. "You've got me, and a whole family that would be there if you needed them."

"_You_ will be _here_, Grayson."

"It's the same city, Dami. I'll visit all the time."

Damian nods uncertainly.

"I won't leave you again." He pushes Damian down gently by the shoulders and pulls the blankets over him. "I'll be right here. Sleep."

He moves slightly closer. "…You had better wake me for patrol."

"I will," he replies, sinking back into his own pillow. "Good night, Damian."

"Just go to sleep already, Grayson."

* * *

Damian wakes up trapped between Grayson's arm and the bed and can't remember when this happened, so he must have been asleep for some time. There had been no dreams to speak of, which was something of a relief. He glances over at Grayson's face, eyes still closed peacefully. _Idiot. After all of this, somehow _you_ can make it stop?_ He's tempted to go back to sleep—he's had far too little lately, though he won't admit to it aloud—but the clock tells him it's time to get up and get ready to leave, so he pushes Grayson's arm off him and rises to his feet.

"It's time to leave," he announces, giving the man a rough shove. "Get up."

Grayson groans and rolls over. "Not yet."

"_Now._" Damian grabs his arm and twists it sharply.

"Ow! What the hell was that for?" Grayson demands, sitting up.

"You weren't getting up."

"Ugh, we need to work on proper waking-people-up protocol," he mutters, rubbing his shoulder. "One, no twisting people's arms off. Two, don't turn up the TV to full volume and blast it in their ear."

"It was the most efficient method."

"And you didn't do it because you were mad or anything, obviously," Dick adds sarcastically. "But, wow, what did I do now?"

"You weren't getting up."

"Didn't we already have this part of the conversation?"

"Yes."

"Great. Fine. I'm up. Go get changed, I'll meet you in five minutes."

Damian nods and grabs the bundle of fabric from the closet. "I'm driving."

"No way."

"That was part of the deal."

"I was hoping you'd forget."

"Unlikely."

"Fine. Just this once. And if you crash it—"

"—I'll have Father buy you a new one, yes."

Grayson sighs. "Alright, I guess it was kind of a stupid threat. But still—"

"I won't crash it, Grayson." He opens the door and slips out. He won't crash it. _Unintentionally._

* * *

Dick isn't really sure what he expected to see when he met Damian in the living room, but it certainly wasn't _this._

Damian is standing near the window, waiting impatiently with arms crossed, dressed in the costume Dick had offered him earlier in the week. The blue of Nightwing's trademark design is emblazoned across his chest, over his shoulders, and down his arms, standing out against the black of the rest of it. His hood is pulled up, so Dick can't entirely read his expression, but he can tell by the way Damian's fidgeting with his sleeves that he's at least a little self-conscious.

"You..."

"Not a word, Grayson, or I'll slit your throat." He turns and opens the window in one quick motion.

Dick just smiles and laughs in delight. _Thanks, Damian._


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Oh. Oh, wow, I am so sorry it has been this long between updates. I don't want to make excuses either; I'm just really, really sorry. I'll do better from here on out (though we're nearly at the end). Thank you for your continued support and your reviews and your everything. Please enjoy this horribly belated chapter and let me know what you think!**

* * *

Damian feels oddly secure that night as they fly over Gotham, nearly identical in their movements as well as in costume. It's the first time since Grayson left that he's been able to push aside all his thoughts and just _focus._ It's the first time he's felt like he's belonged at someone's side.

His father tries, of course, but it's not as easy to be partners with him as it is to be partners with Grayson.

He wants Grayson to be his partner again, but…he can tell the man has always felt more at home in this costume, without the shadowy folds of the cape over his shoulders, without the cowl. This partnership is just for tonight.

"Want to stop for dessert?"

Damian blinks, surprised. He'd almost forgotten Grayson's tendency to eat during the quiet periods of the night. Father doesn't do it nearly as much and certainly never gets "dessert."

His silence is taken as an affirmative, and Grayson slips away with a grin, returning a moment later with two smoothies. "Here you go!"

He accepts one with a smirk and sits at the edge of the rooftop. "Does that place keep a running tab of all Nightwing's late-night purchases?"

"Well, the Bat-credit card is pretty handy."

"The _what?_"

"You mean you don't know?" he asks in mock surprise. "Oh, well, maybe Batman will give you one when you're older. All the other Robins have them."

"You can't possibly expect me to believe there are Bat-credit cards." The concept is laughable in so many ways that Damian can't even begin to accept it.

"It was worth a shot," Grayson concedes, wiping some of the condensation off his cup before sticking the straw in his mouth. "It would be more fun if you were as gullible as a normal kid."

Damian huffs and turns his attention to the smoothie, which, despite being overly sweet, at least isn't talking nonsense.

"So," Nightwing says, sounding vaguely amused as he watches Damian take a long sip from his cup, "I found something of yours in my room."

He raises his eyebrows and lets the straw slip out of his mouth. "Obviously, seeing as I'm staying there. Your point?"

"Just wondering why you keep a picture of me by your bed," he replies mischievously, pulling a photo out of nowhere and waving it back and forth.

Damian feels his face flush a bright red and lets out a stream of curses in Arabic. "I do not!" _How did he find that? Didn't I put it away? _He reaches for it quickly, wanting to hide it. He doesn't need Grayson making fun of him for keeping a sentimental picture. Especially that one. The only one.

"Oh, _really?_" There's the voice. That _I'm-going-to-embarrass-you-and-love-every-minute-of-it_ voice.

"It fell into my bag by accident when I was packing!" he protests.

"That's cute." He holds the photo just out of reach, laughing each time Damian tries to grab it back. The smoothies are forgotten.

"Brown forced it on me!"

"From what I heard, you were practically begging for them."

"I was not begging! Why would I want a stupid picture?!" He's lying, and Grayson knows he's lying, but it doesn't matter.

"So you don't care about it?" A hint of mischief creeps into the man's voice.

"Of course not!"

"Okay." Grayson holds his arm out, over the edge of the roof, the photo fluttering dangerously over the streets below as he grips it by one corner. "Here I was, thinking it was cute that you had a picture of us, but if you really don't want it…" His hand moves slightly, and all Damian can think is _stopstopstop._

"_No!_" Damian blurts out before he can stop himself, lunging for Grayson's hand. "Stop it!" _You can't, that's mine, give it back, I need it, it's the only thing I had, just let me keep it._

He grins and leans away. "I thought you said you didn't want it."

"Go to hell," he spits, still trying to get it back. _Stop humiliating me._

"So you _do_ care!" he sings, ducking and tumbling away from the edge.

Damian lunges at him again.

"Whoa, stop, stop! I'll really drop it if you keep doing that!" He smiles and holds out the photograph. "What, you actually thought I was going to?"

Damian snatches the picture away and holds it carefully with both hands. He stares at it for a few moments, relieved it's safe—which is silly, because it's only a picture and he _knows_ that, and it's already got some creases and bent corners and a hole where he stuck it onto Grayson's wall, but it's _safe. _He lets out a short breath and then turns to start walking away. He's already halfway to the next building before he hears Grayson run to catch up with him.

"Da—Robin, wait! I was just teasing you!"

He lands on the next rooftop easily and speeds up his pace.

"Come on, I wouldn't really do it! You know that!"

Yes, he _knows, _but he had panicked or something and he had needed it back, just that one thing, just in case… He's so _weak._

He grabs Damian's arm to stop him. "Hey. Look at me."

Damian tightens his grip on the small picture and turns, eyes burning with ferocity. "If you did not intend to do anything, why did you take it?"

"…It's fun watching you get flustered?"

He starts to pull away.

"Wait, wait, hold on. I'm sorry, okay? I was just teasing; I forget you aren't used to that sometimes. I didn't realize it was that important to you." Grayson ruffles Damian's hair affectionately. "I think it's cute that you carry it around with you."

"I do _not_ carry it around with me! I keep it in my sk—" _Damn, I walked right into that._

"Knew it!" Grayson laughs.

"Shut up," he mutters under his breath. "I was just using it as a reference. It was all I had."

A tinge of sadness must have crept into his voice, because Grayson looks guilty. "I'm sorry, Little D." He taps the photo with one finger. "It's a good memory, right? I'll make you copies of some other pictures."

"I told you, they're just for reference," he says uncertainly.

"Mm," Grayson hums. "That reminds me, can I see your drawings? It's been a while."

Damian looks at him warily. "I suppose. I only have recent ones, though…Father threw the others into the fire."

Grayson winces. "He did?"

"It was part of my plan. I left pictures for him to find so he would be convinced that I had…left. I just didn't think it he would destroy _all_ of it. I should have taken more precautions."

He touches Damian's shoulder sympathetically. "I'm sorry, little one. You worked so hard on them."

"It doesn't matter," he says stoically.

"Does he…Did you tell him?"

"What would that accomplish?"

Grayson groans. "You two…" He squeezes the younger boy's shoulder. "You should talk to him more."

"Tt."

"Really. He's been just as worried as I've been. Talk to him when you go back, okay?"

Damian remains silent. _When "you" go back. Not "we."_

"Robin? Are you okay?"

"Fine." _I still have the picture._

Grayson frowns. "Are you sure? You seem kinda…"

"I'm _fine._ We're wasting time. Let's go."

"Alright, then." The smile was back. "Lead the way, Miniwing!"

"If you call me that again, I will stab you with this stupid picture."

Grayson stares at him. "Did you just threaten me with a papercut?"

He blushes and ignores the laughter as he swings back the way they came.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Hey everyone! Fairly quick update because I felt kind of bad being away for three weeks. This is…nearly the end. There's going to be one more chapter, and then I plan to do at least one side story. After that, I'll be done with this fanfic (probably). No worries, I'll keep writing about these two (and the others), but I need to wrap this one up so I can focus on NaNoWriMo for next month. So you can expect some oneshots in November, most likely, but I probably won't start anything ongoing until mid-December, once I'm on vacation and have more time to write. Thank you all so much, and please continue to review and let me know what you think!**

* * *

The next couple of days are pleasantly uneventful, and Damian spends every possible second by Grayson's side because he knows the week will be over soon.

He's been contemplating it for days, but he still can't decide whether he should try to convince Grayson to return with him. He knows it's unlikely, but if there's a chance, shouldn't he…?

It goes like that, a constant back-and-forth, starting to say something and then changing his mind, overanalyzing, trying to find the best course of action, until he's tired of thinking about it and just decides to ask, but _what if_…

Enough. It's silly to jump around the subject for so long. He gets up from his place on the sofa and wanders over to the kitchen, where Grayson is throwing together some sandwiches for dinner. (If Damian complains, he doesn't get one.)

"Grayson." He hovers at the man's elbow, propped up on the counter with both arms extended behind him.

"Yeah?" He stuck a large spoon into a jar of peanut butter and pulled out a large glob. "Want some?"

"Absolutely not. I have a question."

"Your loss." He sticks the spoon in his mouth and speaks around it. "What's the question?"

Damian fixes his gaze on the flimsy slices of bread. "What is the proper protocol for…for making a request of someone in your…family?" he manages, unable to look Grayson in the eyes.

"Well, usually you just go up to them and ask 'Hey, whatever-their-name-is, can you do me a favor?'"

"I see." Damian walks away, then turns around and walks back. "Richard Grayson, I request a favor."

He coughs and drops the spoon into the sink on top of the other dirty dishes. "You meant me? You could have just asked! And why are you being so formal?"

Damian frowns. "I have deduced that you generally speak in a more common manner than you should, so I simply made the request more appropriate for civilized conversation."

"Sure," he says blankly, though Damian _swears_ he's laughing at him. "Request away."

He bites his lip for a split second before asking, "Will you be remaining in Gotham?"

"Probably," Grayson replies. "Why?"

"Then…Then wouldn't it be easier to reside in the manor with Father and…and me?" he adds nervously.

"Dami, I—"

"You can still be Nightwing," he says hurriedly, not wanting the conversation to end before he can make his point and convince Grayson to come back.

"You—"

"I haven't asked Father yet, but he'll agree that it's more convenient this way."

"Damian—"

"If an emergency situation were to occur, it would be best if you were close at hand!" His words have gotten faster, more urgent, starting to overlap and blur, but he doesn't care, he has to _try._

"Damian—"

"It's just a matter of—"

"_Damian,_" he interrupts firmly. "Let me talk."

"You're going to refuse," he murmurs.

"You don't know that." The sandwiches are left unattended, and he guides Damian back to the living room and pulls him down beside him on the couch, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. "And I know it's important to you, or you wouldn't have asked."

"Yes or no?"

"Dami…it's not as simple as just…"

"_Yes or no?_" he repeats shakily.

"It's not about whether I want to be with you or not, it's just—"

"Of course." He stands up and turns to walk out. "Fine. I knew you would say that anyway."

"Stop trying to run away from conversations you don't like. Come sit." He pats the spot beside him.

"Tt." He takes a few steps back and sits stiffly on the edge, leaving a couple feet between them.

"Good. Now," he says, "I know for a fact neither of us has enjoyed the past few months, but we're okay now, aren't we?"

Damian nods hesitantly.

"We are. And you know that I will love you no matter where I am, right?"

"But if you come back—"

"If I come back, I will love you; if I don't, I will love you. It doesn't make a difference. You're my little brother. Okay?"

"Okay," he answers quietly.

"Really. I won't leave and hurt you like that again."

"Okay."

"But you and Bruce should be working together. He's your dad."

"I know."

"And don't be too rough on him; he's not the best with kids."

"I know."

"And you can't hurt anyone else in the family either. No repeats of what happened with Jay and Timmy."

"I _won't_," Damian says desperately, voice just above a whisper. "Just—"

"Those are my terms."

Damian's eyes widen in surprise. "Terms?"

"If you don't agree, I won't come back to the manor," he adds, a smile creeping onto his face.

"You—You _imbecile!_ You could have said that from the beginning!"

"And miss out on that priceless look on your face? No way." His eyes sparkle with humor. "You should smile like that more often."

"I'm not smiling!" he protests as he gets dragged into a suffocating hug.

"_Sure_ you aren't." He ruffles Damian's hair for good measure before releasing him and jumping to his feet. "I should take a picture!"

"What? No you—" His words are lost as a camera appears in Grayson's hand and the cushion bounces as he crashes next to Damian.

"One, two, three!" He pulls Damian close, knocking their heads together as he snaps a picture. "Perfect!"

Damian's still blinking away stars from the flash, but he doesn't mind too much when Grayson shows him the picture and promises to print a copy for him to keep before running back to the kitchen to grab the sandwiches and a bag of potato chips.

Damian holds the camera carefully and stares at the picture displayed on the tiny screen. It's better than the other one, he decides. This one is _now. _This one is Dick Grayson and Damian Wayne, no cowls, no masks, just them. And this is how he wants to remember this week they've spent together.

* * *

"Why aren't you packing, Grayson?"

"I'm not coming back right away, Dami. I _do_ have some unfinished business here before I can leave."

"You said—"

"I said I'm coming back, and I will. It won't take more than a week or two, I promise. You could even help me pack if you like."

Damian shoots him a disdainful look.

"Didn't think so."

"So it will just be Father and I?"

"Problem?"

"No. We _can_ function without you, believe it or not."

"Sure you can," he laughs. "Call me when one of you storms off to brood in a corner. Tim and I have bets placed already."

"Idiots."

"But, seriously, be nice."

"_Yes_, Grayson, you've made your point. Can we leave?"

"What, you're ready to get away from me?"

"Tt." Damian tugs the hood of his jacket up and his hand closes around the handle of his suitcase.

Dick grins and gives him a playful shove before grabbing his keys and opening the door. "Alright, let's go!"

Damian's rather quiet on the ride back, occasionally changing the radio station or fiddling with the volume.

"Not that I don't appreciate your weird taste in music, but could you turn that off for a second?"

"My taste in music is much better than yours."

"Then why are you listening to all the preset radio stations?"

Damian huffs exasperatedly and switches it off. "There."

"Okay. Now you want to tell me why you're sulking?"

"I'm not sulking."

"Yes, you are. You're pouting and doing that thing with your hood."

"I'm not."

"Is this about me not coming back right away?"

"Of course not."

"Is this about Bruce?"

"No."

Dick catches the trace of uncertainty in the answer. "What, did something else happen between you two that neither of you told me?"

"No."

"Then—"

"I didn't tell him I asked you to come back," Damian mutters.

"I thought you had called him after…"

"No."

"Well," Dick sighs, "he probably already guessed, but make sure you bring it up once I've dropped you off, okay? I don't want to show up at the door out of nowhere with a bunch of boxes."

Damian nods.

"We're nearly there now!"

"I know that, Grayson. In case you hadn't noticed, I patrol this city every night and it _is_ necessary to know my way around."

"Right, right," Dick laughs. "Well, home sweet home!" He pulls the car to a stop and gets out. "Come on, Dami!" he says, pulling the reluctant ten-year-old out of the front seat, pulling down his hood, and mussing his hair. "Perfect."

Damian aims a kick at his shins. "Don't do that."

"But it's my privilege as big brother!"

"It is _not_."

"Yes, it is! It's in the handbook, right next to 'big brothers are allowed to cuddle with their siblings and hug them as much as they want.'"

"There isn't a handbook," Damian scoffs. "You're making it up."

Dick laughs and hugs him tightly. "That doesn't make it any less important of a rule. Now," he pulls away and straightens Damian's jacket, "let's go reassure Bruce that we didn't murder each other."

"I doubt he's concerned about that; he's probably kept tabs on us since we left."

"Shh, pretend you don't know and let him have his fun."

"Fun?" he asks skeptically.

"And give him a hug," Dick adds as he rings the doorbell.

"No."

"If you do it, I'll do it."

"You'll do it anyway."

"That's not fair," Dick whines. "You have to do it too."

"I told you, I'm not going to—"

"Good morning, Master Richard and Master Damian."

"Hi, Alfred!" Dick exclaims, rushing to give the older man a quick hug. "It's been a while!"

"That it has. I presume everything went well with young Master Damian?"

"It was great! Right, Dami?"

Damian shrugs and mutters, "His cooking skills leave much to be desired."

"That means he missed you," Dick says to Alfred in a stage whisper.

The corner of his mouth twitches up. "Shall I fetch Master Bruce?"

"No need, Alfred, I'm right here." Bruce appears in the entrance and looks the two boys over, eyes softening a little as he observes Dick's arm around Damian. "Welcome home."

Dick tackles him in a hug.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Well, this is it! The last chapter! Thank you all so much for staying with me and supporting me. I've really enjoyed writing this story, and I hope it's been as much a pleasure for you to read it. While it is ending now, I plan to do at least one side story for it before the end of the month, so I hope you'll stick around for that! As for plans beyond October...I'll be doing some oneshots and things in November (but most of my attention will be on NaNoWriMo), and I'll start another ongoing fic (probably with all the Robins?) in December, once I'm done with exams. Anyway, please enjoy this last (rather fluffy) chapter of Find Your Way Home!**

* * *

Bruce welcomes his two sons back with relief. There was only so much he could observe when he wasn't with them, but he can see things have gone back to normal, if Damian is staying contentedly under Dick's arm (once Dick stops all the hugging).

"Come on in," he says. "I think Alfred made us some hot chocolate."

"Oh, fantastic!" Dick exclaims, running to the kitchen. He turns and gives Bruce a small wink before disappearing out of sight.

Bruce glances over at Damian, who seems to be debating whether he should go after Dick or remain there. "How was it?"

Damian's head jerks up. "Fine."

"Oh. Good." He falls silent again and Damian does the same.

"Grayson's coming back," he adds finally.

"I…see." Bruce presses his lips together in a small frown.

"He said I should ask you."

"It seems you've already decided either way."

"It's a formality."

_Of course it is._

"Father?"

_I can't say no. That wouldn't make any of us happy. _"Okay. Go catch up with Dick; I'll be there in a moment."

Damian turns and runs off to the kitchen after his brother.

Bruce sighs and tries to fight off a tension headache. It's fine if Dick comes back. It's fine if Damian prefers to work with him over Bruce. He knew, he expected it to happen.

_But weren't we getting along a little bit better?_

He feels like he's being replaced and it's not even difficult because he and Damian haven't really bonded _except maybe that one time_ and Dick obviously is better suited to—

"Bruce?" a voice asks.

He glances up and sees Dick coming back into the room.

"You're thinking too much," he says, amused, as he comes closer and pokes Bruce in the forehead. "Dami does the same thing." He smiles and leans against the wall.

"Does he?"

"Mm-hm." He watches Bruce for a moment, then turns his head upward to contemplate the large chandelier above them. "I remember I used to swing on that thing all the time when I was younger."

"I remember too. Alfred nearly had a heart attack the first time you did it."

Dick laughs. "I wonder if it would still hold my weight."

"You'd better not try."

There's a glint in his eye that says he'll do it anyway, when Bruce isn't there. Then he gets more serious. "Listen, I know Damian was kind of blunt about it, but it's not what you think. I'm not trying to take your place."

"You filled it well before," Bruce says with a hint of amusement.

"Thanks."

"He'll want to work with you."

"And he can. But it's _Batman_ and Robin, not Nightwing and Robin. I'm here when he needs an older brother; I'm not his dad."

Bruce nods.

"He'll open up to you if you let him. Just be patient." Dick's eyes sparkle with laughter. "Bribe him with ice cream; he secretly loves it."

"Really," he says skeptically.

"Really!" he insists. "And ask him about his art sometime."

"I don't know—"

"Just try it." Dick grabs his arm. "Now come on, the drinks are getting cold."

"Alright, alright!" he gives in, letting his eldest drag him into the kitchen.

Damian glances up from his cup. "What were you doing?"

"Talking about you," Dick says brightly, plopping some marshmallows in his cup and a couple into Damian's before he can protest. "So, Bruce, we decided boarding school is the best option, right?"

Bruce raises his eyebrows. "Definitely."

Damian shoots a dark look in their direction.

"He looks like a miniature version of you when he does that," Dick comments lightly. "Too cute to be scary, though."

"Stop calling me cute," Damian mutters, kicking him under the table.

"Ow! Bruce, Dami's being mean to me!" he whines, tugging at Bruce's arm and pouting like _he's_ the ten-year-old.

"Damian, no kicking. Dick, stop teasing him and drink your hot chocolate."

"You're _ordering_ me to drink my hot chocolate?" Dick laughs.

"Yes."

"I'm finished," Damian announces. "I'm going to unpack my things."

"Oh, I'll help!" Dick exclaims, making to get up.

"As useful as your unpacking skills would be, Grayson, I think I can handle it," he replies, setting down his cup and walking out.

Dick grins and settles back in his chair. "Were you like that as a kid, Bruce?"

"Hardly," he replies.

"I beg to differ," Alfred interjects as he enters the room. "Master Bruce was just as willful as young Master Damian, if not more so."

"Ha! The truth comes out!" Dick throws a few more marshmallows in his cup. "I want details, Alfie!"

"Perhaps another time. I believe Master Tim is waiting for you in the cave…"

"Oh! Right!" He leaps up. "I said I'd help him out with a case! Mind if I…?"

"Go ahead," Bruce says with a wave of his hand. "There's a spare costume for you down there, if you need it."

"Thanks! See you later, Bruce! Bye, Dami!" he calls up the stairs as he runs by.

Bruce watches his eldest run off, wondering what will happen with Damian while Dick prepares things for his return.

_I'm not sure I know how to reach out to him._

* * *

Bruce spends a few hours both working and procrastinating about talking to Damian, but eventually decides to get up and look for him. He's not in his room, but instead hunched over a desk in the study, pencil making quick strokes across the pages of a sketchbook. Bruce slips in silently and watches before addressing him. "Damian."

The boy slams the book closed on whatever he was working on and turns sharply.

"You don't have to hide it," Bruce says softly, guilt tingeing his voice. He moves closer and rests his hand lightly on the cover. "May I?"

Damian stiffens, eyes darting between his father and the sketchbook several times, not quite sure whether to let him take it or not.

"Never mind," Bruce murmurs, letting his hand drift back to his side. _Of course he wouldn't want to show me after I destroyed the others._ "I just came to tell you I have a business dinner tonight, so I'll be out for a few hours."

Damian nods. "Will you be back on time for patrol?"

"Yes." He falls silent, watching his son as he waits expectantly. "I'll…see you this evening," he says quickly, retreating to the hallway.

"Father."

Bruce pauses and turns slightly, just as a piece of paper is thrust in front of him.

"This is yours," Damian says quietly, a little uncertain. "If you want it. Grayson said I should give it to you."

He stares at the offered drawing. It's not anything fancy, just a quick sketch, but he's amazed by his son's apparent talent. He'd been so overcome with anger and desperation before that he hadn't noticed Damian was actually quite gifted. "This…is me?" There's no point in asking, really, because there's no way it _can't_ be, but he can't find the right words at the moment.

Damian nods.

"It's…wonderful. Thank you."

Damian's eyes widen in surprise as his father takes the sketch from him and holds it carefully by the edges.

"Do you…do you mind if I display it?"

He slowly shakes his head. "That's…fine."

Bruce gives him a small squeeze of the shoulder and then releases him. "I know that I never apologized for burning your other drawings," he began quietly.

"It's quite alright, Father. It was part of my plan."

_Then why did you look so disappointed when you saw they were gone?_ He sighs. "No, I acted without thinking. I shouldn't have destroyed them…you're very talented."

Damian looks away, hand clenching around the edge of his sketchbook. "Tt."

Bruce begins to move away again, but is stopped once more, this time by a small hand on his arm.

"When you have the time…perhaps I could show you my other drawings?" he offers hesitantly, sketchbook clutched tightly to his chest.

"Of course," he replies with a small smile. "I have plenty of time. Why don't we go to my room—it's more comfortable and we can stay warm under the blankets."

"Okay." Damian hurries back to the table and scoops up his pencils before returning to his father's side.

Bruce watches the single sheet of paper in his hands flutter softly as he moves to look at it again. _He's trusting me a little bit more. I'm glad. I want to do this right._

"Father?" Damian questions, waiting.

He blinks and turns back to his son. "I was thinking…perhaps we should go out for dinner tonight. We don't do it very often."

"We've _never_ done it," Damian corrects. "And I thought you had a business dinner."

"I'll have Alfred reschedule it."

"Why? Surely it's important—"

"It can wait," he says firmly, guiding Damian down the hall. "Why don't we look at your drawings and then go out? There's an art store not far from here, and I'll buy you some new materials after dinner, if you like."

The faint, barely noticeable smile he receives fills him with warmth and, for once, with the sketch in one hand and the other resting on his son's back, he truly feels like Damian's father.

_Thank you, Dick._

* * *

Grayson returns a week and a half later with a huge smile on his face and forces Bruce and Damian into a group hug upon arrival. It's not unexpected.

Damian is more surprised by how _relieved_ he is to see Grayson walk back through that door. It's real now, he's back, he's not leaving. He holds on to him long after Grayson releases them, long after Bruce slips out to give them some time alone. He's grateful for the familiar touch and the security, and Grayson doesn't question why he's standing there, face buried in his shirt, arms wrapped snugly around his waist, and speaking quietly in Arabic.

"_I missed you. I'm glad you're home. Please stay. I've missed you."_

And Grayson, who only knows a few words in Arabic and can't understand most of this, holds him gently and promises it won't happen again, he won't leave, he loves him, he'll always be there.

"_I know. Thank you."_

He laughs softly and says he knows that last part, at least, and butchers his attempt to say "_You're welcome."_

"_Shut up. Your Arabic is awful, or I wouldn't say this…but…I'm glad you're my brother, even if it's not by blood."_

Grayson holds him even tighter, like he knows, and whispers "_Thank you, Damian. That means a lot to me, little brother"_ in perfect Arabic.

Damian freezes. _"What?"_

"Oops." Grayson takes advantage of Damian's shock to extract himself from the hug and start running.

"What—How—Grayson, get back here! I'm going to kill you!"

* * *

When Bruce happens upon the two a couple hours later, having known better than to interrupt the pounding footsteps he'd heard echoing throughout the house, they're passed out on the living room floor. He presses a hand to Dick's shoulder and wakes him, motioning for him to be quiet.

"What did you do this time?" Bruce whispers.

"Nothing!" he whispers indignantly. "Okay, fine, I may have pretended I didn't know Arabic."

Bruce sighs. "Dick, you've been fluent in Arabic for _years._"

"I wanted to see what he'd do!"

"Judging by your bruises, he didn't appreciate it."

"Well, no, but it was worth it." Dick gently strokes Damian's hair away from his face. "I'll move him to the couch so he won't get sore."

"Alright."

Dick lifts the small boy off the floor carefully and takes him to the couch, reclining next to him and smiling as Damian curls into his side. "Care to join us?" he asks Bruce softly.

"Not right now; I have some work I need to do. You two rest. I'll need you to be alert tonight."

"Whatever you say," Dick murmurs sleepily. "You're missing out on some great cuddles…"

"I'm sure," he replies, amused. "And Dick?"

"Nn?"

"Alfred asked me to tell you that you and Damian are in charge of cleaning up the mess."

Dick doesn't reply, already fast asleep again with his arm draped comfortably over his little brother.

Bruce looks at the two of them fondly and pulls a blanket over their sleeping forms, whispering "Welcome home."


	20. Side Story: Dick's Toast Tales

**A/N: And here we have the (slightly delayed) side story I promised! It's set somewhere in the first Batman and Robin run, and is the story related to the Dick-not-being-able-to-make-toast comment in chapter 14. This'll be the last update, and it's just for fun, so enjoy!**

**(as a side note, I'm not sure if toasters like this exist, but if they did, Bruce would have one)**

* * *

"Damian, have you seen the pancake mix?" Dick calls, halfway inside the pantry, his head poking around the door to look at his youngest brother, who's slouched in a chair and rubbing at sleep-filled eyes.

"No," Damian replies scornfully. "Why would I have seen it? Ask Pennyworth."

"I'm letting Alfie have a few days off; you know that."

"I still don't see why you did so," Damian mutters. "What are we going to eat?"

"Well, I was going to make pancakes, but..." Dick sighs. "How about toast instead?"

"Toast isn't a meal."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Dick says sarcastically. "Would you like to be in charge of the food? Because that can be arranged."

"Pass. I'll be in my room."

"It'll be done in less than five minutes. Stay. You can at least keep me company."

"I don't think that's necessary."

"Of course it is! Pass me the bread."

"You're two feet away from it, Grayson."

"I thought you wanted to help!"

"I don't recall offering my assistance." He reluctantly picks up the loaf of bread and tosses it at his partner. "There."

"Thanks, Dami!" Dick grabs the bag in midair and then pulls Damian in for an unexpected hug.

Damian freezes as Dick's arms wrap around him and the bread bounces lightly off his back. "What are you doing?"

"_We_ are bonding," he replies happily.

"Let go."

"But we've never cooked together before! This is important family time!"

Damian pauses for a second before stomping on Dick's foot, making him yelp and release him. "Just make the toast already."

His partner gives him an exaggerated hurt look and pulls out a couple slices before throwing them in the toaster. "I think this is new."

"What?" Damian asks uninterestedly.

"The toaster. I haven't seen it before."

"You're also never in the kitchen."

Dick shrugged. "Well, it works the same way, right?"

"Again, how would I know? Call Pennyworth."

"I'm not going to call Alfred to ask him how the toaster works."

"Tt."

Dick laughs and squints at the small dials scattered across the front of the device. "This looks right...I think...hey, Dami, do you think this looks like a bagel, or is it supposed to be a donut?" he asks, smile playing on his lips. Occasionally it's fun to pretend he's clueless; it annoys Damian to no end.

"Why the hell would you toast a donut?"

"Good point. And then this one is bread. Or is it this one? Maybe one is for frozen bread. When did toasters get so fancy anyway? Mine just has a thing for how toasted you want it."

"Grayson, if you get any more incompetent, I'm going to call Drake because he, unlike you, probably knows how to work a toaster, despite his lack of skill in other areas."

"Come on, cut me some slack! This thing is ridiculous! Look at this! What does this dial even do?"

"I don't know."

"Well, it must do _something_ important; it's bigger than the rest."

"Your detective work is truly astonishing. I see why you're Batman now."

"Sarcasm isn't cute."

"Good."

Dick tries not to laugh and fixes his attention back on the toaster. He honestly isn't sure he knows how to work the thing; he's just been guessing.

"...Are you going to keep staring at the thing, or are you going to put the toast in?"

"But there's nothing to push it down. I don't get it!"

"Really, Grayson, this is pitiful."

"Shush. I don't see you trying." He presses buttons randomly until the toaster whirs quietly and the bread begins to sink into the machine. "Ha! I did it! Look, Dami! Have you ever seen a toaster do that before? Isn't it cool?"

"Sure."

"Oh, and look at the fancy timer thing!"

Damian sighs and lifts himself up onto the countertop.

"Alfred doesn't like it when we sit there."

"He's not here. And in comparison to the damage you're doing, I don't think he'll be particularly upset."

"What damage?" Dick asks. "I'm a pro at toast-making!"

"Right." Damian pulls out his phone and flicks through it disinterestedly.

Dick waits patiently for the toast to finish, doing handstands in the meantime. Just as he's flipping himself upright again, he sees Damian snap a quick picture on his phone. "What are you doing?"

"Documenting this incident. I will not be blamed for your incompetency in the kitchen when Pennyworth asks why the toaster is on fire."

It takes Dick about two seconds to process the words, five to let out a stream of expletives, seven to apologize and tell Damian not to talk like that _ever_, and ten to locate the fire extinguisher and release the spray of foam all over the toaster.

"Well," Damian says with a smirk, "now that you've demonstrated your severe lack of cooking abilities, I'm going to go train."

"Like you were any help," he responds sullenly, poking the charred slices of bread with a fork. "Alfred's going to kill me when he sees this." The toaster is broken beyond repair, and Dick _really _doesn't want to know how much the stupid thing cost, or how much Alfred liked it.

_Damn it, Bruce, couldn't you have bought normal appliances like everyone else?_

Dick sighs and wonders what he should do about breakfast now. "Hey, how about some eggs?" he asks Damian, who's on his way out already.

"No."

"Please?" he begs.

"_Fine_," Damian mutters, caving. "But if anything else catches fire, I'm not eating it."

Dick grins and hurries to make the eggs—scrambled seems the least dangerous, considering his track record this morning. Thankfully, it goes well and there are no flames or fire extinguishers involved. He happily sets a plate in front of his little brother, who looks like he's fighting off sleep again. "One Dick Grayson special, just for you. Would you like anything else with that?"

Damian stares down at the plate for a moment. "Yes," he replies, deadpan. "Toast."


End file.
